SELMA LAGERLOF 

Translated from the Swedish by 

SELMA AHLSTROM TROTZ 


F. Re i COr'Y, 

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THE 


MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


A NOVEL 


BY 

SELMA LAGERLOF 

* « 


Translated front the Swedish by 

SELMA AHLSTROM TROTZ 


“ When Antichrist comes he will appear to be wholly like Christ. Then 
great distress will prevail, and Antichrist will go from land to land and 
give bread to the poor. And he shall gain many followers.” 

Sicilian Folklore 



NEW YORK 

THE LOVELL COMPANY 

23 Duane Street 








TZ3 

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*2 

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TWO COP Ulb ^ceiVEO. 



Copyright, 1899, '« [ 

By THE LOVELL COMPANY 

All Rights Reserved. 


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CONTENTS 


INTRODUCTION : 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. The Emperor’s Vision i 

II. Rome’s Holy Child 9 

III. On the Barricade 19 

\ 

BOOK I 

I. Mongibello 25 

II. Fra Gaetano 39 

III. The Godsister 48 

IV. Diamante 63 

V. Don Ferrante 65 

VI. Don Matteo’s Mission 72 

VII. The Bells of San Pasquale 78 

VIII. Two Canzonets 115 

IX. The Flight 127 

X. Sirocco 130 

XI. The Feast of San Sebastiano 159 

BOOK II 

I. A Great Man’s Wife 187 

II. Panem et Circenses 195 

III. The Ejected Image 207 

IV. The Ancient Martyrdom 216 

V. The Lady With the Iron Ring 229 

VI. Fra Felice’s Testament 232 

VII. After the Miracle 255 

iii 


IV 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

VIII. A Jettatore 259 

IX. Palazzo Geraci and Palazzo Corvaja 274 

X. Falco Falcone 290 

XI. Victory 320 


BOOK III 


I. The Oasis and the Desert 328 

II. In Palermo... 334 

III. The Coming-Home 344 

IV. Only of this World 361 

V. A Fresco by Signorelli 381 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


INTRODUCTION 

“ When Antichrist comes, he will appear to be wholly like 
Christ. * * 


I 

THE EMPEROR'S VISION 

At the time when Augustus was emperor in Rome 
and Herod was king in Jerusalem, it happened that 
a very great and holy night descended upon the 
earth. It was the darkest night that anyone had 
ever seen ; one might almost have believed that the 
whole earth had chanced in under a cellar vault. It 
was impossible to distinguish water from land or find 
one’s way along the most familiar road. And it 
could not be otherwise, for not a ray of light came 
from the sky. All the stars had remained at home 
in their houses, and the fair moon kept her face 
turned away. And just as deep as the darkness was 
also the silence and the stillness. 

The rivers had ceased to flow, not a breath of 
wind stirred, and even the aspen leaves trembled no 
more. Had one walked by the sea, one would have 
found that the waves no longer beat against the shore, 
and had one walked in the desert, the sand would 
not have grated under foot. Everything was petri- 
fied and at rest, in order not to disturb the holy 

i 


2 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


night. The grass did not grow, the dew fell not and 
the flowers dared not breathe out fragrance. 

During this night the beasts of prey did not hunt, 
the serpents did not bite, nor did the dogs bark. 
And, what was still more glorious, no inanimate 
thing would have disturbed the sanctity of the night 
by lending itself to an evil deed. No pick-lock would 
have opened a door, and no knife had been capable 
of shedding blood. 

That same night there came from the imperial 
dwelling on the Palatine in Rome, a little group of 
people, who took the way across the Forum up 
towards Capitolium Hill. During the day which 
had just expired, the senators had asked the emperor 
if he had anything against their erecting a temple to 
him on Rome’s holy hill. Augustus, however, had 
not immediately given his assent. He did not know 
if it were pleasing to the gods that he should own a 
temple by the side of theirs, and he had answered 
that he first wished to ascertain their will in the 
matter by a nightly sacrifice to his genius. It was 
he who, accompanied by a few faithful friends, now 
went to perform Ihe sacrifice. 

Augustus suffered himself to be carried in a sedan 
chair, for he was old, and the long stairs of the Capi- 
tolium inconvenienced him. He himself held the 
cage containing the doves, which he was to sacrifice. 
No priests, soldiers or senators attended him, only 
his nearest friends. Torch-bearers went before him 
as if to make a path through the darkness, and behind 
him followed slaves, carrying the three-footed altar, 
the coals, the knives and the sacred fire, and every- 
thing else needed for the sacrifice. 


THE EMPEROR’S VISION 


3 


On the way the emperor talked cheerfully with his 
friends, and, therefore, no one noticed the infinite 
silence and stillness of the night. Not until they 
had reached the highest part of Capitolium and 
stood on the empty spot intended for the new 
temple, was it revealed to them that something un- 
usual was taking place. 

This could not be a night like all others, for upon 
the edge of the cliff they saw the most marvelous 
being. At first they thought it was an old 
twisted olive trunk, afterwards they thought that an 
antique stone-image from the temple of Jupiter had 
wandered out on the cliff. At last it seemed to 
them that it could be none other than the old 
sibyl. 

Any thing so old, so weather-beaten and so gigan- 
tic, they had never seen. This old woman was fright- 
ful. If the emperor had not been there, they would 
all have fled home to their beds. 

“ It is she,” they whispered to each other, “who 
numbers as many years as there are grains of 
sand on her native shore. Why has she come out 
of her cavern on this particular night ? What does 
she* augur the emperor and the empire, she who 
writes her prophesies on the leaves of the trees and 
knows that the wind conveys the word of the 
Oracle to the one who is in need of it ? ” 

They were so terrified that they would have thrown 
themselves on their knees with their foreheads 
towards the earth, had the sibyl stirred. But she sat 
so still she appeared to be lifeless. She sat crouch- 
ing on the verge of the cliff, and, shading her eyes 
with her hand, she peered out into the night. 


4 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


She sat there as if she had gone up on the hill in 
order to see better something which was taking place 
far away. 

At that moment the emperor and all his attend- 
ants noticed how extremely dark it was. No one 
could see a hand-breadth before him. And how still, 
how silent ! Not even the dull murmur of the Ti- 
ber could be heard. The air was stifling. Cold 
sweat broke out on their foreheads, and their hands 
were stiff and numb. They believed that something 
terrible must be imminent. 

No one, however, would show that he was afraid, 
but all said to the emperor that these were good 
prognostics. All nature held its breath to welcome 
a new god. 

They exhorted Augustus to hasten with the sacri- 
fice, and said that the old sibyl had probably issued 
from her cavern to greet his genius. 

But the truth was, that the old sibyl was so whol- 
ly absorbed by a vision, that she did not even know 
that Augustus had come up on Capitolium. In 
spirit she was carried away to a distant land, where 
it seemed to her she was wandering over a great 
plain. In the darkness her feet continually stumbled 
against something, which she took to be knolls. 
She stooped to feel with her hand. No, it was not 
knolls, but sheep. She wandered between large 
sleeping flocks of sheep. 

Now she noticed the shepherds’ fire. It burned 
in the middle of the field, and she turned her steps 
towards it. The shepherds were asleep by the fire, 
and beside them lay their long, pointed staves, used 
in defending the flocks against wild animals. But 


THE EMPEROR’S VISION 


5 


the small creatures with the gleaming eyes and bushy 
tails, stealing along towards the fire, were they not 
jackals ? And yet the shepherds did not hurl their 
staves at them, the dogs continued to sleep, the 
sheep did not flee, and the wild beasts lay down to 
rest beside human beings. This the sibyl saw, but 
she knew nothing of what passed behind her on the 
hill. She did not know that an altar was being raised 
there, fire kindled and incense scattered, and that the 
emperor took one of the doves out of the cage to 
sacrifice it. But his hands were so benumbed that 
he could not hold the bird. With one stroke of the 
wing she escaped and vanished above in the dark- 
ness. 

When this happened, the courtiers cast suspicious 
glances at the old sibyl. They thought that it was 
she who caused the mishap. 

How could they know that the sibyl was in fancy 
standing by the shepherds’ fire, and that she now 
listened to a faint sound reverberating through the 
dead silence of the night. She heard it a long while 
before she was aware that it did not come from the 
earth but from the sky. Finally lifting her head, 
she saw shining forms gliding along in the darkness. 
It was flocks of angels, who, sweetly singing, flew 
back and forth over the wide plain, as if seeking 
something. 

While the sibyl listened to the song of the angels, 
the emperor prepared for a new sacrifice. He 
washed his hands, purified the altar and received the 
second dove. But although he exerted himself to the 
utmost to hold it, the dove glided out of his hands 
and flew away into the impenetrable night. 


6 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


The emperor was terrified. He prostrated him- 
self before the empty altar and prayed to his genius. 
He implored him for strength to avert the misfor- 
tunes which this night seemed to portend. 

Nothing of this either had the sibyl heard. She 
listened with her whole soul to the song of the angels 
which grew stronger and stronger. At last it was so 
powerful that it awoke the shepherds. They raised 
themselves on their elbows, and saw shining bands of 
silvery white angels moving up there in the darkness 
in long, fluttering lines like birds of passage. Some 
had lutes and violins in their hands, others citharas 
and harps, and their song sounded as gleefully as the 
laughter of children and as careless as the twittering 
of larks. When the shepherds heard this they arose 
to go to the city in the mountains where they dwelt, 
and relate the wonder they had seen. 

They groped their way along a narrow, winding 
path, and the old sibyl followed them. All at once 
it grew light up on the mountain. A large, clear 
star appeared straight over it, and the city on its top 
gleamed like silver in the starlight. All the roaming 
bands of angels hurried thither with cries of exulta- 
tion, and the shepherds hastened their steps. When 
they had reached the city, they found the angels 
gathered together above a low stall in the vicinity 
of the city gate. It was a miserable building with a 
straw roof and the naked cliff for a back wall. Over 
this stood the star, and hither flocked more and 
more angels. Some alighted on the straw roof or 
on the steep wall of rock behind the house, others 
hovered above it. High up, the air was glorified by 
radiant wings. 


THE EMPEROR’S VISION 


7 


At the same moment as the star began to shine 
above the city in the mountains, all nature awoke, 
and the men who stood on Capitolium could not 
help noticing it. They felt cool, refreshing winds 
passing through the air, sweet odors streamed up to 
them from below, the trees rustled, the Tiber began 
to murmur, the stars glistened, and all at once the 
nioon stood high in the heavens and lighted up the 
world. And from the sky came the two doves and 
alighted on the emperor’s shoulder. 

When this miracle took place, Augustus rose in 
triumphant joy, but his friends and slaves prostrated 
themselves. “ Ave Caesar,” they cried, “ thy genius 
has answered thee. Thou art the god, who shall be 
worshiped on Capitolium.” 

And the homage which the enraptured men ren- 
dered the emperor was so loud, that the old sibyl 
heard it. She rose from her place on the edge of 
the cliff and came and stood in the midst of the 
people. And it was as if a dark cloud had risen 
from the precipice and swept down over the hill. 
She was appalling in her senility. Coarse hair hung 
in thin tufts about her head, the joints of her limbs 
were misshapen and grotesquely large, and the dark 
skin was like a covering of bark, with furrow upon 
furrow. But mighty and imposing she advanced 
towards the emperor. With one hand she seized 
his wrist, with the other she pointed eastward — 

“ Behold ! ” she commanded him, and the emperor 
lifted his eyes. The expanse opened before him 
and his gaze penetrated to the distant East. And 
he saw a poor stall under a steep wall of rock and 
in the open door a few kneeling shepherds. Inside 


8 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


the stall he saw a young mother on her knees before 
a little child, which lay on a sheaf of straw on the 
floor. 

And the sibyl’s bony finger pointed towards that 
lowly child. “Ave, Caesar,” said the sibyl with a 
scoffing laugh. “ There is the God that shall be 
worshiped on Capitolium Hill.” Then Caesar re- 
coiled from her as from a maniac. 

But upon the sibyl descended the mighty spirit of 
prophecy. Her dim eyes began to glow, her hands 
stretched toward heaven, her voice changed, so that 
it no longer seemed to be her own, but had such 
ring and power that it might have been heard over 
the whole world. And she pronounced words which 
she seemed to read up among the stars : 

“ On Capitolium the world-renewer shall be worshipped, 

Christ or Antichrist, but not weak, infirm human beings.” 

Having said this, she glided away between the 
terror-stricken men and passed slowly down the hill 
and disappeared. 

But the next day Augustus strictly forbade the 
people to erect a temple to him on Capitolium Hill. 
Instead, he built there a sanctuary to the newborn 
Godchild and called it heaven’s altar, Aracoeli. 


ROME’S HOLY CHILD 


9 


II 

ROME’S HOLY CHILD 

On Capitolium Hill a monastery had been erected 
which was occupied by Franciscan monks. Yet it 
could hardly be regarded as a monastery, but rather 
as a fortress, or as a watch-tower by the seashore 
where one spies and watches for an approaching 
enemy. 

Beside the monastery stood the splendid basilica 
of Santa Maria in Aracoeli, built in commemoration 
of Him the sibyl had here permitted Augustus to 
see, Christ. But the monastery was built because of 
the fear of the fulfilment of the sibyl’s prediction, 
that Antichrist would be worshiped on Capitolium. 

And the monks felt like soldiers. When they 
went to church to sing and pray, they fancied them- 
selves walking on ramparts and sending showers of 
arrows down upon the assaulting Antichrist, of whom 
they lived in continual fear ; all their service being 
but a struggle to keep him away from Capitolium. 

Drawing their cowls forward so as to shade their 
faces, they sat spying out into the world. 

Their eyes became feverish from staring, and they 
constantly imagined they discovered Antichrist. 
“ He is here, he is here! ” they cried. And up they 
flapped in their brown gowns, raising themselves in 
combat, like crows, on the top of a crag, at the 
sight of an eagle. 


10 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


But some said : “ Of what use are prayers and 

penance ? The sibyl has said it. Antichrist must 
come.” 

Others said, “ God can perform a miracle. If it 
availed nothing to struggle, He would not have per- 
mitted the sibyl to warn us.” 

Year after year the Franciscans defended Capito- 
lium by penance, and works of charity, and by 
preaching the word of God. 

Century after century they guarded it, but as time 
advanced, the people became weaker and more 
powerless. The monks said between themselves: 
“ Soon the kingdoms of the present time can endure 
no longer. A world-renewer is needed as in the 
days of Augustus.” 

They tore their hair and flagellated themselves, 
for they knew that the reviver must be Antichrist, 
and that it would be a regeneracy of force and vio- 
lence. 

Just as the sick are pursued by their malady, so 
these monks were haunted by thoughts of Anti- 
christ. And they saw him plainly before their eyes. 
He was just as rich as Christ had been poor, as 
wicked as Christ had been good, as exalted as Christ 
had been abased. 

He carried powerful weapons and led the way at 
the head of bloody malefactors. He destroyed the 
churches, murdered the priests, and armed the people 
for war, so that brother fought against brother, and 
all feared each other, and peace did not exist. And 
for every despot and tyrant, that journeyed over the 
ocean of time, there came from the watch-tower on 
Capitolium the cry : “ Antichrist ! Antichrist ! ” 


ROME’S HOLY CHILD 


II 


And for every one of these that disappeared and 
broke down in the struggle, the monks cried 
“ Hosanna! ” and sang the Te Deum. And they 
said : “ It is on account of our prayers that the wicked 
fall before they have time to ascend Capitolium.” 

It was a severe judgment upon the beautiful 
monastery, that its monks never found peace. Their 
nights were even more grievous than their days. 
Then they saw wild beasts force their way into the 
cells, and lie down beside them on their pallets. 
And every wild beast was Antichrist. T o some of the 
monks he appeared like a dragon, to some like a 
griffin, and to others like a sphinx. When they arose 
from their dreams, they were weak as after a severe 
illness. 

The only comfort these poor monks possessed, 
was the miracle-working image of Christ, preserved 
in the basilica of Aracoeli. When a monk was in 
despair from fright, he went into the church to seek 
comfort. He walked through the whole basilica 
and entered a chapel on one side of the chief altar. 
There he lighted consecrated candles and repeated a 
prayer, before opening the shrine which had a double- 
locked iron-door and as long as he gazed at the 
image he remained on his knees. 

The image represented a little child in swaddling 
clothes, with a gold crown on its head, gold shoes on 
its feet, and the whole of the swaddling clothes glit- 
tered with gems, gifts from needy ones who had ap- 
pealed to it for aid. And the walls in the chapel were 
covered with pictures illustrating how it had rescued 
in dangers of fire and sea, how it had healed the 
sick and helped the unfortunate. On beholding this, 


12 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


the monk rejoiced and said to himself : “ Praise be 

to God ! Christ is still worshiped on Capitolium.” 

The monk saw the face of the image smile upon 
him, a smile full of a mysterious conscious power, 
and his spirit soared to the realms of faith and trust. 

“ What can overthrow thee, thou mighty one? ” he 
said. “ What can overthrow thee ? Before thee 
the eternal city bends its knees. Thou art Rome’s 
Holy Child. Thou art the crowned one whom the 
people adore. Thou art omnipotent, and cometh 
with help and strength and comfort. Thou alone * 
shall be worshiped on Capitolium.” 

The monk saw the crown on the image change 
into a halo, which sent out rays over the whole world. 
And in whichever direction the rays pointed, he saw 
churches, where Christ was worshiped. It was as 
if a powerful ruler had shown him all the citadels 
and fortresses that defended his realm. Verily thou 
canst not fall. Thy kingdom must endure.” 

And each one of the monks, who saw the image, 
had a few hours of peace until he was again seized with 
fear. But had the monks not possessed the image, 
they would not have had a moment’s rest. 

Thus had the monks of Aracoeli in prayer and 
struggle worked their way through the ages, and there 
had never been a lack of watchers, for as soon as one 
had become worn out by anxiety, others had hastened 
to occupy his place. 

And although the majority of those who entered 
this monastery were seized with insanity or died an 
early death, the monks’ ranks never seemed to thin, 
for to fight at Aracoeli was considered a great honor 
before God. 


Rome's holy child 


13 


And so it happened that not more than sixty years 
ago, this struggle was still in full operation, and be- 
cause of the impotency of that period, the monks 
fought with greater zeal than ever before. 

At that time there came to Rome a wealthy Eng- 
lish lady. She went up to Aracoeli and saw the 
image, and it charmed her so, that it seemed to her 
she could not live if she could not have it. Again 
and again she went to Aracoeli to see the image, and 
at last she begged the monk to let her buy it. 

But even if she had paved the whole mosaic floor 
of the great basilica with gold pieces, the monks 
would not have wished to sell her this image, their 
only solace. 

Nevertheless the English lady was so completely 
fascinated with the image, that she found neither 
peace nor joy without it. And when she could not 
gain her object in any other way, she decided to 
steal it. She did not think of the sin she would 
have committed, but felt only a great restraint and 
a burning thirst and would rather risk her soul than 
deny her heart the joy of possessing what she coveted. 
And to accomplish her purpose, she first had an im- 
age made exactly like the one at Aracoeli. 

The image at Aracoeli is carved of olive-wood from 
the garden of Gethsemane, but the English lady pre- 
sumed to have an image carved out of elm-wood, ex- 
actly like it. The image at Aracoeli is not painted 
by human hand. When the monk who carved it had 
taken out brush and paints, he fell asleep over his 
work and when he awoke, the image had color. It 
had painted itself in token that God loved Him it 
represented. But the English lady was bold enough 


14 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


to let an earthly painter paint her image of elm 
exactly like the holy image. 

For the false image she procured crown and shoes, 
but not of gold ; it was only sheet-iron and gilding. 
She ordered gems, she bought rings and necklaces 
and bracelets and diamond knots, but they were all 
made of brass and glass — and she clothed it as those 
in quest of succor, had clothed the right and real one. 

When the image was completed, she took a needle 
and engraved in the crown : “ My kingdom is only 
of this world.” It was as if she feared that she 
herself would not be able to distinguish image from 
image. And it was as if she wanted to keep her 
conscience clear. I have not presumed to make a 
false image of Christ, have I? For behold on his 
crown I have written : ‘ My kingdom is only of this 
world. ’ ” 

After that she threw a wide cloak over her, and 
hiding the image under it, went up to Aracoeli ; 
and she begged that she might be permitted to 
make her devotion before the image of Christ. 

As she now stood within the sanctuary, and the 
candles were lighted, and the iron door opened, and 
the image appeared before her, she commenced to 
shake and tremble and appeared as though she were 
going to faint. The monk who was with her hur- 
ried in to the sacristan after water, and she was left 
alone in the chapel. When he returned she had 
committed the sacrilege. She had taken the holy 
miracle-working image and substituted the false, 
powerless one. 

The monk did not notice the change. He shut 
up the false image behind the double-locked, iron 


ROME’S HOLY CHILD 


15 


door, while the English lady returned home with 
Aracoeli’s treasure. She placed it in her palace on a 
marble pedestal, and was happier than she had ever 
been before. 

At Aracoeli, where every one was wholly ignorant 
of the loss suffered, the false image of Christ was 
worshiped as had been the real one, and when 
Christmas came, there was built, as was customary, a 
most beautiful grotto inside the church. There the 
image lay, glittering like a jewel, in Mary’s lap, and 
round it shepherds were arranged and angels and 
wise men. And as long as the grotto remained, 
children came from Rome and Campagna and were 
lifted up into a little pulpit in the basilica, and they 
preached about the little Christ-child’s sweetness and 
kindness and greatness and power. 

But the English lady lived in constant fear lest 
someone should discover that she had stolen Ara- 
coeli’s image of Christ. Therefore she confessed to 
no one that the image she had was the real one. 
“ It’s an imitation,” she said, “ as like the real one 
as it can be, but it is only an imitation.” 

Now it happened that she had a little Italian 
maid. One day, as the latter was passing through 
the rooms, she stopped in front of the image and 
talked to it. “ Thou poor little Christ-child, who art 
no Christ-child,” she said. “ If thou only knew how 
the real one lies in splendor in the grotto in Aracoeli 
and how Maria and San Guiseppe and the Shepherds 
lie on their knees before it ! And if thou knew how 
the children stand in a little pulpit straight before it, 
and how they curtesy and kiss their fingers to it 
and preach to it the best they know how ! ” 


1 6 THE MIRACLES OE ANTICHRIST* 

Several days after that the little maid came again 
and talked to the image : “ Thou poor little Christ- 
child, who art no Christ-child,” she said, “dost know, 
that to-day I have been up in Aracoeli and seen how 
the real child was carried in a procession ? They 
held a canopy over it, and all the people fell on their 
knees, and sang and played for it. Thou wilt never 
take part in anything so grand ! ” 

And mark well, a few days later the little maid 
came again and talked to the image : “ Dost thou 
know, little Christ-child, who art not a real Christ- 
child, that it is better for thee to be where thou art. 
Because the real child is called to the sick, and it 
rides to them in a golden carriage, but it cannot help 
them, and they die in despair. And it is commenced 
to be said that Aracoeli’s holy child has lost its 
power of doing good, and that tears and prayers 
have no effect upon it. It is far better for thee to 
remain where thou art than to be appealed to and 
not be able to help.” 

But the next night a miracle happened. Towards 
midnight there was a violent ringing at the monas- 
tery portal in Aracoeli. And when the porter did 
not open quickly enough, it began to knock. The 
raps had a sharp metallic ring and echoed through 
the whole monastery. All the monks rushed at 
once out of their beds. All who had been tormented 
by frightful dreams rushed out, thinking that Anti- 
christ was come. 

But when the door was opened — when the door 
was opened ! Who should be standing there on the 
threshold but the little Christ-child? It was his 
little hand that had pulled the bell-rope. It was his 


Rome’s holy child 


17 

little gold-shod foot that had reached out and kicked 
on the door ! 

The porter straightway took the holy child in his 
arms. Then he saw that it had tears in its eyes. 
Alas! the poor holy child had wandered through the 
city in the night ! What must it not have seen ? So 
much poverty and want, so much vice and so many 
crimes ! It was dreadful to think of all that it must 
have gone through. 

The porter went immediately to the prior and 
showed him the image. And they wondered how it 
had got out in the night. 

But the prior gave orders to strike the church bell 
and call the monks to service. And all the monks of 
Aracoeli marched into the great dimly-lighted basilica 
to replace the image in all solemnity. 

Worn and suffering they walked along, shivering 
in their heavy gowns of wadmal. Several of them 
wept, as though they had escaped a deadly peril. 
“ What would have become of us,” they said, “ if our 
only comfort had been taken from us ? Is it not 
Antichrist who has enticed Rome’s holy child out of 
the sheltering sanctuary ? ” 

But when they were about to put back the Christ- 
child into the shrine of the chapel, they found there 
the other child, the one that bore on its crown the 
inscription, “ My kingdom is only of this world.” 
And upon examining the image more closely, they 
found the inscription. 

Then the prior turned to the monks and spoke to 
them : 

‘'Brothers, we will sing the Te Deum and cover 
the pillars of the church with satin, and light all the 

2 


IS THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

wax candles and all the hanging lamps, and we will 
celebrate a great feast. 

“ As long as the monastery has stood, it has been 
an abode of terror and abomination, but for all their 
sufferings’ sake, who have lived here, God has been 
gracious. And now all danger is past. 

“ God has crowned the struggle with victory, and 
this which ye here see, is the sign that Antichrist 
shall not be worshiped on Capitolium. 

“ For in order that the words of the sibyl should 
not remain unfulfilled, God has sent the false image 
of Christ, which bears Antichrist’s words in its 
crown, and he has permitted us to worship and adore 
it as though he had been the great miracle-worker. 

“ But now we may rest in joy and peace, for the 
sibyl’s vague speech is fulfilled, and homage has here 
been paid Antichrist. 

“ Great is God, the Almighty, who has suffered our 
cruel fear to come to naught, and who has accom- 
plished His will without the world’s beholding the 
corrupted image of the son of man. 

“ Happy is the monastery of Aracoeli which rests 
in God’s protection, and does His will and is blessed 
by His overflowing grace.” 

Having said these words the prior took the false 
image in his hands, walked down through the church 
and opened the main portal. There he stepped out 
upon the platform. Below him lay the high and 
broad staircase, with its one hundred and nineteen 
marble steps leading down from Capitolium as into 
an abyss. And raising the image above his head he 
cried in a loud voice : 4 ‘ Anatema Antikristo,” and 
hurled it from Capitolium Hill down into the world. 


ON THE BARRICADE 


19 


III 

ON THE BARRICADE 

WHEN the English lady awoke next morning, she 
missed her image and wondered where she should 
seek it. She believed that no one but the monks of 
Aracoeli could have taken it. And she hurried to 
Capitolium to spy and search. 

When she came to the great marble staircase leading 
up to Capitolium, her heart beat in wild delight, for 
lo ! on the lowest step lay the very one she was seek- 
ing. She seized the image, threw her cloak round 
it and hastening home, placed it again on the pedestal. 
But as she fell into contemplation of its beauty, she 
found that the crown had received a dent. She 
lifted it off to see how great the damage was, and at 
the same moment her eyes fell upon the inscription 
which she herself had engraved “ My kingdom is 
only of this world.” 

Then she knew that this was the false image of 
Christ and that the right one was restored to Aracoeli. 

She despaired of ever having it again, and she de- 
cided to depart from Rome on the following day, 
for she did not wish to remain there, when she no 
longer possessed the image. 

But when she left she took the false image with 
her, because it reminded her of the one she loved, 
and it accompanied her on all her journeys. 

Peace she found nowhere, but traveled constantly, 


26 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

and thus the image was carried about through the 
whole world. And wherever the image came it 
seemed as though Christ's dominion decreased with- 
out anyone rightly understanding why. For noth- 
ing appeared more powerless than this poor image 
of elm arrayed in glass beads and brass rings. 

When the rich English lady who first owned the 
image was dead it came as heirloom to another rich 
English lady, who also traveled continually, and 
from this one to a third. 

Once, and that was while the first English lady 
still lived, the image came to Paris. 

When it entered the great city a rebellion was in 
progress. Crowds of people marched wildly shriek- 
ing through the streets, crying for bread. They 
plundered the shops and threw stones at the palaces 
of the rich. The troops advanced against them, 
whereupon they tore up the pavement, piled vehicles 
and household goods into heaps and built them- 
selves barricades. 

Now when the rich English lady came riding in 
her great coach, the multitude rushed upon it, com- 
pelled her to leave it, and dragged it forward to one 
of the barricades. 

In trying to roll the carriage up among the thou- 
sand things forming the barricade, one of the large 
trunks fell to the ground. The cover burst open, 
and among other things which rolled out, was also 
the ejected image of Christ. 

The people threw themselves upon it for the pur- 
pose of plundering it, but soon discovering that all 
his finery was false and entirely worthless, they began 
to laugh and scoff at it. 


ON the barricade 


2t 

It passed from hand to hand among the rebels, 
until one of them, bending forward to look at the 
crown, happened to see the words engraved there : 
“ My kingdom is only of this world.” 

Immediately the man proclaimed this in a loud 
voice, whereupon all cried that the little image should 
be their emblem. They carried it to the top of the 
barricade and placed it there as a standard. 

Among those who defended the barricade was a 
man, who was not a poor laborer but a scholar whose 
whole life had been spent in study. He knew 
the troubles and distress which tortured the people, 
and his heart overflowed with compassion, so that 
he was constantly seeking after means for bettering 
their lot. For thirty years he had written and 
brooded, without finding any help. On hearing the 
tocsin, he obeyed it and rushed out on the street. 

He had seized a weapon and gone with the com- 
batants, thinking that the mystery, which he had 
been unable to explain, might be solved by main 
force and power, and that the poor might through 
combat be able to better their condition. 

All day he stood there fighting, and the people 
fell round about him, blood spattered him in the 
face, and life’s wretchedness seemed to him greater 
and more deplorable than ever before. 

But as often as the smoke drifted away, there 
glittered before his eyes the little image which, dur- 
ing the tumult, stood undisturbed on top of the bar- 
ricade. 

And every time he saw the image, the words : “ My 
kingdom is only of this world,” crossed his brain. At 
last it seemed to him as though the words wrote 


22 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


themselves in the very air and fluttered before his 
eyes now in fire, now in blood, now in smoke. 

He became calm. He stood there with the gun 
in his hand, but he ceased to fight. Suddenly he 
knew that these were the words which he had been 
searching for during his whole life. He knew what 
to say to the people, and it was this poor image that 
had given him the solution. 

He would go out into the world and proclaim : 
“Your kingdom is only of this world. 

“ Therefore ye must take thought for this life, and 
live as brothers. And ye shall divide your riches, so 
that no one shall be rich and no one poor. And ye 
shall all work and the earth shall be possessed by all, 
and ye shall all be equal. 

“ No one shall hunger, no one shall be tempted to 
luxuriance, and no one shall suffer want in his old 
age. 

“ And ye must bear in mind to work for everybody’s 
happiness, for there is no compensation awaiting 
you. Your kingdom is only of this world.” 

All this passed through his brain, while he yet 
stood on the barricade, and when the thought be- 
came clear to him, he laid down his weapon, and 
lifted it no more in strife or bloodshed. 

Immediately after that the barricade was attacked 
anew and taken. The troops advanced victoriously 
and quelled the insurrection, and before evening 
peace and order prevailed all over the great city. 

Then the English lady sent out servants to 
search for her lost possessions. What they found 
first of all on the assaulted barricade was the ejected 
image from Aracoeli. 


ON THE BARRICADE 


23 


But the man, who, during the conflict, had been 
taught by the image, began to proclaim a new doc- 
trine called socialism, but which is an antichristian- 
ity. 

And that it loves and teaches and suffers and de- 
nies itself as Christianity and is similar to it in all re- 
spects, just as the false image from Aracoeli is in 
all respects similar to the right image of Christ. 

And like the false image, it says : “My kingdom is 
only of this world/' And although the image which 
published the doctrine is obscure and unknown, the 
same is not true of the doctrine, for that goes 
through the whole world reforming and redeeming 
it. 

Day by day it is being spread. It passes through 
all countries and bears many names, and is alluring 
for the reason that it promises earthly happiness and 
delight to all, and draws adherents more than any- 
thing which has gone forth through the world since 
the time of Christ. 



FIRST BOOK 

** Then great distress shall prevail.” 


I 

MONGIBELLO 

Towards the end of 1870 there lived in Palermo a 
poor boy whose name was Gaetano Alagona. That 
was fortunate for him. Had he not been one of the 
ancient Alagona family, he would probably have 
been left to starve. But the Jesuits in Santa Maria 
in Gesu, had taken pity on him and received him 
into the convent school. 

One day as he was studying his lesson, a father 
came and called him out of the schoolroom, because 
a relative wished to see him. What, a relative ! He 
had always heard that all his relations were dead. 
But Father Josef declared that this was a real live sig- 
nora, who was related to him and wanted to take 
him out of the convent. It became worse and 
worse. Did she want to take him out of the con- 
vent ? Surely it was not in her power to do that ! 
He was to become a monk, was he not ? 

He did not want to see that signora at all. 
Couldn’t Father Josef tell her that Gaetano would 
never leave the convent, and that it was no use asking 

25 


26 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


him. No, Father Josef said, it would not do to let her 
go away without seeing him, and he half dragged Gae- 
tano into the reception-room. There she stood over 
by the window. She was gray-haired, her complex- 
ion was brown, her eyes black and as round as beads. 
She wore a lace mantilla on her head, and her black 
dress was threadbare and somewhat green like Father 
Josefs very oldest caftan. 

She made the sign of the cross when she saw Gae- 
tano. “ God be praised, he is a genuine Alagona ! ” 
she said, and kissed him on the hand. 

She said she was sorry that Gaetano had reached 
his twelfth year without any of his own people hav- 
ing inquired after him. But she had not known 
that there was any one of the other branch living. 
How then had she learned it now ? Luca had read 
the name in a newspaper. It had appeared among 
those who had received prizes. It was now half a 
year ago, but it was a long journey to Palermo. She 
had been obliged to save and save to get traveling 
money. She had not been able to come before. But 
she felt she must see him. Santissima madre ! how 
happy it had made her ! It was she, Donna Elisa, 
who was an Alagona. Her husband, who was dead, 
had been an Antonelli. There was one more Alagona, 
that was her brother. He also lived in Diamante. 
But Gaetano perhaps did not know where Diamante 
was. The boy shook his head. Well, she thought 
as much. 

“ Diamante is situated on Monte Chiaro. Do you 
know where Monte Chiaro is ? ” 

“No.” 

She raised her eyebrows and looked roguish. 


MONGIBELLO 27 

fi Monte Chiaro lies on Etna, if you know where 
Etna lies ? ” 

It came so anxiously, as if it were asking altogether 
too much that Gaetano should know anything of 
Etna. And they laughed all three ; both she, Father 
Josef and Gaetano. 

She seemed a different person entirely, after she 
had made them laugh. Will you come and see Dia- 
mante and Etna and Monte Chiaro ? ” she asked 
suddenly. “ Etna, you must see. It is the greatest 
mountain in the world. Etna is a king, and the 
mountains round about lie on their knees and dare 
not lift their eyes towards its face.” 

And she began to tell all about Etna. No doubt 
she imagined it would tempt him. 

And such was really the case, that Gaetano had 
never reflected upon what sort of a mountain Etna 
was. It had never occurred to him that it had snow 
on the top of its head, forest of oak in its beard, 
grapevine round its waist, and that it stood knee- 
deep in orange groves. And down from it, great, 
broad, black rivers came bursting forth. Those were 
wonderful streams : they flowed without murmur, 
their waves were not caused by wind, the poorest 
swimmer could cross them without any bridge. He 
guessed that it was the lava she meant. And it 
pleased her that he could guess it. He had brains 
evidently. He was a genuine Alagona. 

And then how large it was ! Only fancy that one 
needed three days to ride around it and three days 
to ride to the top and down again ! And that there 
were fifty cities besides Diamante and fourteen large 
forests and two hundred small mountains, which by 


28 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


the way, however, were not so very small, though 
Etna was so immense, that one did not notice them 
any more than one would a swarm of flies on a 
church roof. And that there were caves that would 
hold a whole army, and hollow trees, where a large 
flock of sheep could find shelter during a storm. 

Everything strange and wonderful, it seemed, was 
to be found on Etna. There were rivers which one 
must beware of. The water in them was so cold, 
that one might die if one drank thereof. There were 
other rivers which flowed only in the daytime, and 
others which flowed only in winter, and others run- 
ning almost continually deep down under the earth. 
And there were warm springs and sulphur springs 
and mud volcanoes. 

It would perhaps be a pity if Gaetano was not al- 
lowed to see it, for it was so grand. It stood against 
the sky like a magnificent tent. It was as variegated 
as a merry-go-round. He would like to see it morn- 
ing and evening, then it was red ; he would like to 
see it at night, then it was white. He would also 
wish to know if it were true that it could take all 
colors, that it could become blue, black, brown and 
violet? Or whether it wore a beauty veil like a 
signora? Whether it was a table covered with plush 
cloths? Whether it had a tunic of gold threads 
and a mantle of peacock feathers ? 

He would also like to know all about old King 
Arturo sitting there in a cave. Donna Elisa said 
that he certainly lived on Etna still, because once 
when the bishop of Catania rode across the moun- 
tain, three of his mules ran away from him and the 
servant, who sought after them, found them in the 


MONGIBELLO 


2 9 


cave with King Arturo. Then the king bade the 
servant tell the bishop, that when his wounds were 
healed, he would come with his knights of the round 
table, and put everything to rights, that was out of 
order in Sicily. And anyone who had eyes to see 
with, knew very well that King Arturo had not yet 
issued from the grotto. 

Gaetano would not suffer her to tempt him, but he 
thought that he might be permitted to show her a 
little kindness. She was still standing, so he went 
after a chair for her. He hoped she would not im- 
agine he would go with her, because of this attention. 
But he really enjoyed hearing her tell about her 
mountain. ' Its knowing so many tricks was queer. 
It was not at all like Monte Pellegrino near Palermo, 
which just stood there. Etna could smoke like a 
chimney and emit fire like a gas-lamp. It could rum- 
ble, tremble, vomit lava, throw stones, scatter ashes, 
predict what the weather would be and collect rain. 
If Mongibello only stirred, city after city fell, as if 
the houses had been so many pieces of cardboard 
placed edgewise. 

Etna was called Mongibello, because that meant 
the mountain of mountains. It certainly deserved 
to be so called. 

Gaetano saw that she positively believed he would 
not be able to resist. She had so many wrinkles in 
her face, and when she laughed they joined like a 
net. He stood watching this. It looked so queer. 
But he was not caught in that net yet. She now 
wondered if Gaetano would have courage to come to 
Etna. For inside the mountain were many fettered 
giants and a black castle, which was watched by a 


30 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


dog with many heads. There was also a large 
smithy and a lame blacksmith with only one eye 
right in the middle of his forehead. And worst of 
all was, that in the very depths of the mountain was 
a brimstone lake, which boiled like a kettle of oil 
and in it lay Lucifero and the condemned. No, he 
would probably not have courage to come, she said. 

Otherwise it was not dangerous to live there, for 
the mountain feared the saints. Donna Elisa said 
that it feared many saints, but most of all Santa 
Agata of Catania. If the Catanians always behaved 
themselves as they should towards her, neither 
earthquakes nor lava could harm them. 

Gaetano stood quite close to her, and he laughed 
at everything she said. How came he to be there, 
and why could he not help laughing? This is a 
wonderful signora. 

In order not to deceive her, he said suddenly : 
“ Donna Elisa, I’m going to be a monk.” — “ O, are 
you ? ” she said. Then, without anything further, 
she began again to tell about the mountain. 

She said that now he must listen carefully ; now 
she came to the most important part. He should 
go with her down the south side of the mountain, 
till they came near the large plain of Catania, there 
he would see quite a large, broad, semicircular valley. 
But it was entirely black, the lava streams came flow- 
ing down into it from all directions. There were 
only stones, not a blade of grass. 

But what was Gaetano’s idea of the lava ? Donna 
Elisa supposed he thought it lay smooth and even 
on Etna, just as it lies on the street. But in Etna 
there was so much deviltry. Could he conceive that 


MONGIBELLO 


31 


all there was of snakes and dragons and witches that 
lay boiling in the lava, ran out with it when there 
was an eruption. There they lay crawling and 
creeping, intertwining and trying to creep up on 
cold ground and still keeping each other behind in 
misery till the lava stiffened around them, and 
extricate themselves they could not. No, indeed! 

But the lava was not as portionless as he imagined. 
Although grass did not grow there, might there not be 
other things to see ? But what that was, he very likely 
never could guess. It groped and ran, it tumbled 
and crept, it went on its knees, on its head, on its 
elbow. It came up the sides of the valley and down 
the sides of the valley; it had only prickles and 
knobs, it had dust and spider web in its wig and as 
many joints as a worm. Could it be anything but 
the cactus? Did he know that the cactus broke 
ground on the lava like a farmer ? Did he know 
that none but the fichidins had any power over the 
lava ? 

Now she looked at Father Josef and made a funny 
droll face. That cactus was the best hobgoblin on 
Etna, but then hobgoblin was hobgoblin. The cactus 
was a Saracen, for it kept female slaves. No sooner 
had the cactus taken root somewhere than it wanted 
the almond trees close beside it. The almond trees 
are elegant, shining signoras. They hardly dare to 
venture out on the black lava, but that does not help 
them. Out they must, and once out, they must 
remain there. O, Gaetano should see if he came. 
In the spring when the almond trees stand white 
with blossoms on the black lava in the midst of the 
gray cactus, they are so innocent and beautiful, that 


32 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


one feels like weeping over them as over kidnapped 
princesses. 

Now finally he should learn where Monte Chiaro 
lay. It shot up from the bottom of the black valley 
she had just described. She tried to make her um- 
brella stand on the floor. It stood like that. It 
stood straight up. It had never thought of either 
sitting or lying. And just as black as the valley was, 
just as green was Monte Chiaro. It was all palms 
and vines. It was a gentleman in a big-flowered 
dressing-gown. It was a king with a crown on his 
head. It carried all Diamante in its hair. 

Now a little while ago Gaetano had a great desire 
to seize her hand. But perhaps it would never do ? 
He did it however. He drew her hand towards him 
as though it were a stolen treasure. But what should 
he do with it ? Caress it, perhaps ? Suppose he 
tried very gently with one finger, then perhaps she 
would not notice it ? Perhaps she would not notice 
if he took two fingers ? Perhaps she would not even 
notice if he kissed her hand ? She talked and talked. 
She did not notice it at all. 

There was still so much to tell. And could any- 
thing be more droll than her story of Diamante ! 

She said that at one time the city had lain at the 
bottom of the valley. Then came the lava and 
peeped fiery red above the edge of the valley. What, 
what, had the day of judgment come? The city 
hastily took all its houses on its back, on its head and 
under the arms and ran up Monte Chiaro, which lay 
quite close at hand. 

Up the mountain the city ran zig-zag. When it 
was up quite far enough, it threw down a city gate 


MONGIBELLO 


33 


and a bit of city wall. Afterwards it ran round the 
mountain spirally and threw down the houses. Poor 
people’s houses were allowed to tumble down as 
they would and could. There was no time for any- 
thing else. One could not ask anything better than 
crowding and confusion and crooked streets. In- 
deed one could not. The principal street went in a 
spiral round the mountain, just as the city had run, 
and all along the road it had flung a church here and 
a palace there. But some sort of order there had 
been nevertheless, for the best was up highest. 
When the city had reached the summit of the moun- 
tain, it had laid out a market-place, and there it had 
set down the court-house and the cathedral, and the 
old palazzo Geraci. 

But if he, Gaetano Alagona, would accompany 
her to Diamante, she would take him with her up 
to the market-place on the top of the mountain and 
show him the stretches of land the ancient Alagonas 
had owned on Etna and on the plains of Cata- 
nia, and where on the inland mountains they had 
raised their strongholds. For up there one saw all 
this and still more. One saw the whole sea. 

It had not occurred to Gaetano that she had been 
talking long, but Father Josef seemed impatient. 
“ Why, now, we have come to your own home, Don- 
na Elisa,” he said gently. 

But she assured Father Josef that she had nothing 
worth seeing. First of all she wished to show 
Gaetano the large house at the corso, called the sum- 
mer palace. It was not as beautiful as the palazzo 
Geraci, but it was large, and when the Alagonas were 
still rich and prosperous, they used to come there in 
3 


34 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


the summer to be near Etna’s snow. Well, as she 
had said, towards the street there was nothing to 
see, but it had a delightful courtyard with open 
colonades in both stories. And on the roof was a 
terrace, the floor of which was of blue and white 
tiles, and in every tile the Alagona coat-of-arms was 
burned in. Surely he would like to see that ? 

It occurred to Gaetano that Donna Elisa might be 
used to having children come and sit in her lap, 
when she was at home. Perhaps she would not 
notice it if he too came. So he tried. And such 
was the case. She was used to it. She did not 
notice it at all. 

She only continued to speak about the palace. 
There were large rooms of state, where the old Ala- 
gonas had danced and played. There was a great 
hall with a music gallery, there was old furniture, 
and pendulum clocks in small white alabaster tem- 
ples, which stood on a base of black ebony. In 
these rooms no one lived, but she would take him 
there. Perhaps he had imagined that she lived in 
the summer palace? Oh, no, her brother Don Fer- 
rante, lived there. He was a merchant, and had his 
shop in the first story, and as he had not yet pro- 
vided himself with a signora, everything upstairs re- 
mained as it was. 

Gaetano wondered if it would do to remain sitting 
in her lap any longer. It was strange that she did 
not notice anything. And that was fortunate, else 
she might think he had given up becoming a monk. 

But just at present she was more than ever occu- 
pied with her own. A faint tint of red rose to her 
cheeks, beneath all the brown, and she raised her 


MONGIBELLO 35 

eyebrows several times in the drollest manner. So 
she began to tell about herself. 

It seemed as if Donna Elisa had the very 
smallest house in the whole city. It lay opposite 
the summer palace, but that was its only merit. 
She had a little shop where she sold medals and wax 
candles and everything belonging to divine service. 

But with all respect for Father Josef, there was not 
much profit in that kind of trade nowadays, how- 
ever it might have been formerly. Behind the store 
was a small workshop where her husband had stood 
and carved images of saints and rosary beads, for he 
had been an artist, had Signor Antonelli. And by the 
side of the workshop were a couple of small rat holes. 
One could hardly turn round in them, one had to 
squat as in the prisons of the old kings. And up one 
flight were two little hen-coops. In one of them she 
had put some hay for a nest and a few perches. 

There Gaetano could keep himself if he would 
come and live with her. 

Gaetano thought he would like to caress her cheek. 
She would probably feel very sorry that he could 
not go with her. Perhaps he might allow himself to 
caress her. He gazed slyly at Father Josef, who sat 
looking straight down at the floor and sighing, as 
was his wont. He was not thinking of Gaetano, and 
she, she took no notice of it at all. 

She said she had a maid-servant whose name was 
Pacifica, and a man-servant whose name was Luca. 
But they were not much help to her, for Pacifica was 
old, and since she had become deaf, she had become 
so irritable that she could not be allowed to help in 
the store. And Luca, who really was a carver and 


36 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

ought to carve images of saints, which she might 
sell, he never found time to stand in the workshop 
and carve, but was always out in the garden tending 
the flowers. Yes, to be sure, they had also a garden 
among the rocks on Monte Chiaro. But he must 
not imagine that that was of any account. She had 
nothing equal to what he was used to in the convent, 
naturally Gaetano could understand that. But she 
wanted him very much, because he was one of the 
old Alagona family. And at home she and Luca and 
Pacifica had said to each other : “ What do we mind 

a little more care? ” No, the Madonna knew they 
did not. But now the question was would he go 
through something for the sake of living with them ? 

And now she had finished, and now Father Josef 
asked what Gaetano intended to answer. It was the 
prior’s will that Gaetano should decide himself. And 
one had nothing against his going out into the world, 
because he was the last of his race. 

Gaetano glided slowly down from Donna Elisa’s 
lap. But to answer ! That was not an easy matter. 
It was very hard to say no to that signora. Father 
Josef came to his aid. “Ask the signora to allow 
you to answer in a couple of hours, Gaetano. The 
boy has never thought of anything else than to be a 
monk,” he said by way of explanation to Donna Elisa. 

She rose, took her umbrella, endeavoring to look 
cheerful, but she had tears in her eyes. 

Surely, surely he must consider, she said. But had 
he known Diamante he would not have needed to. 
Now only peasants lived there, but at one time there 
had been a bishop and many priests, and a great 
number of monks. They were gone now, but they 


MONGIBELLO 


37 


were not forgotten. Ever since that time Diamante 
was a holy city. More festivals were celebrated there 
then elsewhere, and there were hosts of saints, and 
thither came, even now, a great number of pilgrims. 
He who lived in Diamante could never forget God. 
He was almost half priest. So for that matter he 
could very well come. But he ought to reflect on it, 
if he so wished. She would come again to-morrow. 

Gaetano behaved himself very badly. He turned 
away from her and rushed out of the door. He did 
not say a word about feeling grateful because she had 
come. He knew that Father Josef had expected it, 
but he could not. When he thought of the great 
Mongibello, which he never should see, and of Donna 
Elisa, who would never come again, and of the 
school and the narrow convent garden and a whole 
life of imprisonment ! Father Josef might expect 
ever so much of him ; Gaetano must flee. 

It was also high time. When Gaetano was ten 
steps outside the door, he burst into tears. Poor 
Donna Elisa ! O, that she should be obliged to re- 
turn alone ! That Gaetano could not accompany her ! 

He heard Father Josef approaching, and he 
pressed his face against the wall. If he could only 
cease sobbing ! 

Father Josef went sighing and muttering, as he 
always did. When he came near Gaetano, he 
stopped and drew deeper sighs than ever. 

“ It is Mongibello, Mongibello,” said Father Josef, 
“ No one can resist Mongibello.” 

Gaetano answered him by weeping still more 
violently. 

“ It is the mountain that tempts,” mumbled Father 


38 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


Josef. “ Mongibello is like the whole world, all the 
beauteousness and charms of earth are there, and 
plants and climates and wonders. The whole earth 
comes all at once and tempts him.” 

Gaetano felt that Father Josef spoke the truth. 
It seemed as though the whole world stretched out 
strong arms to seize him. He felt that he must 
cling to the wall in order not to be snatched 
away. 

“ It is better for him to see the world,” said Father 
Josef. “ He would only be longing after it, if he re- 
mained in the convent. If he is allowed to see the 
world, perhaps he will begin to long for heaven 
again.” 

Gaetano did not yet understand what Father Josef 
meant, when he felt himself lifted in his arms, car- 
ried back into the reception-room and put down in 
Donna Elisa’s lap. 

“ Since you have won him, Donna Elisa, you 
must take him,” said Father Josef. “You must 
show him Mongibello, and try if you can keep 
him.” 

But when Gaetano once more sat with Donna 
Elisa, he felt so happy, that it was impossible for 
him to flee from her again. He was as much a cap- 
tive as though he had entered Mongibello, and the 
mountain wall had closed behind him 


FRA GAETANO 


39 


II 

FRA GAETANO 

GAETANO had lived one month with Donna Elisa 
and been as happy as a child could be. Just to 
travel with Donna Elisa had been like riding behind 
gazelles and birds of Paradise, but to live with her 
was to be borne on a litter of gold, shaded by para- 
sols. 

So the famous Franciscan, Father Gondo, came to 
Diamante, and Donna Elisa and Gaetano went up to 
the market-place to hear him. For Father Gondo 
never preached in the church, but always gathered 
the people around him at the market-place, or city 
gate. 

The whole square was thronged with people, but 
Gaetano, who sat on the railing of the court-house 
steps, saw Father Gondo plainly standing on the curb 
of the well. He wondered mostly If it could be 
true, that the monk wore a hair shirt under his 
gown, and that the rope, which he had round his 
waist, was full of knots and iron points to serve him 
as scourge. 

What Father Gondo said Gaetano did not under- 
stand, but shiver after shiver passed through him at 
the thought that he now beheld a saint. 

When the Father had spoken about an hour, he 
motioned with his hand that he wished to rest a 
moment. And, stepping down from the curb, he 


40 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


seated himself and leaned his face in his hands. 
While the monk sat thus, Gaetano heard a dull mur- 
mur. He had never heard anything like that before. 
He looked around to learn what it could be. It 
was the whole multitude speaking. 

“ Blessed, blessed, blessed ! ” they all said at once. 
Most of them only whispered and mumbled, no one 
spoke out loud, their devotion was too great for that. 
And all had simultaneously found the same words : 
“ Blessed, blessed ! ” reverberated all over the mar- 
ket-place. “ Blessing upon thy lips, blessing upon 
thy tongue, blessing upon thy heart ! ” 

The voices sounded dull, suppressed by weeping 
and emotion, and yet it seemed as though a storm 
had swept through the air. It was like the sound in 
thousands of sea-shells. 

This touched Gaetano more by far than the monk’s 
sermon. He was at a loss what to do ; for this 
gentle murmur affected him deeply, it seemed as 
though it would stifle him. He climbed up on the 
balustrade, raised himself above all the others, and 
began to repeat the same as they, only much louder, 
so that his cry penetrated all the others. 

Donna Elisa hearing this, appeared to become 
displeased. She drew Gaetano down, and would 
not remain any longer, but went home with him. 

But in the middle of the night Gaetano rose from 
his bed. He put on his clothes, tied together his 
possessions in a bundle, put his hat on his head and 
his shoes under his arms. He was going to run 
away. He could no longer bear to live with Donna 
Elisa. 

Diamante and Mongibello were nothing to him, 


FRA GAETANO 


41 


since he had heard Father Gondo. Everything was 
trivial compared with being like Father Gondo, and 
be blessed by the people. Gaetano would not be 
able to live if he could not sit by the market-place 
well and relate legends. 

But if Gaetano continued to roam in Donna 
Elisa’s garden, eating peaches and mandarins, he 
would never hear the great sea of human beings 
surging around him. 

He must go forth and become a hermit on Etna. 
He must dwell in one of the large caves and live on 
roots and fruit. He would never meet any human 
being, he would never cut his hair, and he would 
wear nothing but a few dirty rags. But after ten or 
twenty years he would return to the world. Then 
he would look like a beast and speak like an angel. 

That would be something quite different from go- 
ing about dressed in velvet clothes, and shining 
leather hat. That would be different from sitting in 
the shop with Donna Elisa, taking down saint after 
saint from the shelf and hearing her tell what they 
had done. Several times he had taken a knife and a 
piece of wood and tried to carve images of saints. 
It was very difficult, but it would be much worse to 
make a saint of himself. However, he was not 
afraid of difficulties or privations. 

He stole out of his room, across the attic and 
down the attic stairs. There remained only to pass 
through the shop, and out into the street ; but on 
the last step he checked himself. A faint glimmer 
of light was visible through a crack of the door at 
the left of the stairs. 

There was the door to Donna Elisa’s room, and 


42 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


Gaetano dared not go farther, since his foster-mother 
had a light burning. If she did not sleep, she would 
hear him when he opened the heavy bolts of the 
shop door. He seated himself quietly on a step to 
wait. 

Suddenly it occurred to him that Donna Eliza 
was obliged to sit up as late as this in the night and 
work to provide clothes and food for him. That she 
loved him so much and would do this for him, af- 
fected him deeply. And he understood how much it 
would grieve her, should he now go away. 

When he thought of that, he commenced to cry. 

But at the same time he began to chide Donna 
Elisa in his thoughts. How could she be so stupid 
as to grieve, because he went away. It would be 
such a joy to her, when he became a holy man. It 
would be her reward, for going to Palermo after 
him. 

He wept all the more violently, while he was thus 
comforting Donna Elisa. It was a pity, that she 
could not understand how richly she would be re- 
warded. 

Why, there was no need at all of feeling sad. 
Only ten years would Gaetano live over yonder on 
the mountain, and then he would come back as the 
renowned hermit Fra Gaetano. Then he would 
come walking along the street in Diamante, followed 
by a great throng of people, just as Father Gondo. 
And there would be flags in the street, and all the 
houses would be decorated with quilts, and cloths 
and wreaths. Then he would stop outside Donna 
Elisa’s shop, and Donna Elisa, not recognizing him 
at first, would be near falling on her knees to him. 


FRA GAETANO 


43 


That, however, should not happen, for he would fall 
on his knees to Donna Elisa and beg forgiveness of 
her. “ Gaetano,” Donna^ Elisa would then answer, 
“ You give me an ocean of joy for a little brooklet 
of sorrow. Should I not forgive you ? ” 

Gaetano imagined he saw all this, and it was so 
beautiful, that he wept all the more. He only feared 
that Donna Elisa would hear how he sobbed and 
come out and find him. And then she would not 
let him go. 

He must talk reason with her. Should he ever be 
of greater joy to her, than if he now went ? 

It was not Donna Elisa alone, it was also Luca 
and Pacifica, who would be so glad, when he re- 
turned a holy man. 

They would all go with him up to the market 
place. There would be still more flags than in the 
streets, and Gaetano would speak from the court- 
house steps. But from all streets and alleys the 
people would come streaming forth. 

Then Gaetano would speak in such a manner, that 
they would all fall on their knees crying: “ Bless us, 
Fra Gaetano, bless us ! ” 

After that he would never more go away from 
Diamante. He would take up his abode under the 
large staircase outside Donna Elisa’s shop. 

And they would bring to him the sick, and those 
in trouble would make pilgrimages to him. 

When the Syndic of Diamante went by, he would 
kiss Gaetano’s hand. 

Donna Elisa would sell Fra Gaetano’s image in her 
shop. 

And Donna Elisa’s goddaughter, Giannita, would 


44 THE miracles of antichrist 

bow down to Fra Gaetano, and never more call him 
a stupid monk boy. 

And Donna Elisa would be so happy. 

Ah . . . Gaetano started up and awoke. It was 
morning and Donna Elisa and Pacifica stood looking 
at him. And Gaetano sat on the step with his shoes 
under his arm, his hat on his head and the bundle at 
his feet. But Donna Elisa and Pacifica were weep- 
ing. “ He wanted to run away from us,” they said. 

“ Why do you sit here, Gaetano ? ” 

“ Donna Elisa, I wanted to run away.” 

Gaetano was in good spirits and answered as 
boldly as if it had been the most natural thing in 
the world. 

“You wanted to run away?” repeated Donna 
Elisa. 

“ I wanted to live on Etna and be a hermit.” 

“ And why do you sit here now ? ” 

“ I don’t know, Donna Elisa, I must have fallen 
asleep.” 

Donna Elisa could no longer hide her grief. She 
pressed her hands to her heart, as though she felt a 
terrible pain, and she wept violently. 

“ But now I will stay, Donna Elisa,” said Gaetano. 

“You, stay!” cried Donna Elisa. “You may 
just as well go. Look at him, Pacifica, that is the 
way an ingrate looks ! He is no Alagona. He is 
an adventurer.” 

The blood rushed to Gaetano’s face, and he arose 
and struck out with his hand in a way that greatly 
amazed Donna Elisa. All the men of her family 
had done just like that. It was her father and her 


FRA GAETANO 45 

grandfather; she recognized all the authoritative 
Alagona gentlemen. 

“You talk like that, Donna Elisa, because you 
know nothing,” said the boy. “ No, no, you know 
nothing, you don’t know why I must serve God. 
But you shall know it now! You see, it was long 
ago. Father and mother were very poor, and we 
had nothing to eat, and then father went away to 
seek work, and he never came back, and mother and 
we children were starving. Then mother said : 
‘ We will go and try to find father! * And we went. 
And night came and it rained heavily, and in one 
place a whole river ran across the road. Mother 
asked at a house, if we might remain there over 
night. No, they turned us out. Mother and we 
children stood weeping on the road. Then mother 
tied up her clothes and stepped down into the 
stream, which rushed across the road. She had 
little sister on her arm and big sister by the hand, 
and a large bundle on her head. I walked behind 
as close as I could. I saw mother make a false step. 
The bundle on her head fell into the stream, mother 
grasped after it and so lost little sister. She tried 
to catch little sister, and big sister was snatched 
away. Mother threw herself after them, and the 
river took her also. I became frightened, and ran 
on land. Father Josef has told me that I escaped in 
order that I might serve God for the dead ones and 
pray for them. And for that reason it was first 
decided, that I should become a monk, and that I 
now wanted to go to Etna and be a hermit. There 
is nothing left for me to do, Donna Elisa, except to 
serve God,” 


4 6 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

Donna Elisa was wholly vanquished: “Yes, yes, 
Gaetano,” she said, “ but it gives me so much pain. 
I don’t wish to have you go away from me.” 

“ Why, I am not going,” said Gaetano. He was 
an such a good humor, that he felt like laughing. 
“ I am not going.” 

“ Shall I speak to the rector about sending you to 
a training school?” asked Donna Elisa humbly. 

“No, don’t you understand anything, Donna 
Elisa, don’t you understand anything? Haven’t 
you heard me say that I don’t want to go away from 
you. I have thought of something else.” 

“ What have you thought of ? ” she asked sadly. 

“What do you suppose I did, while I sat there on 
the step. I dreamed, Donna Elisa. I dreamed that 
I was running away. Yes, Donna Elisa, I was stand- 
ing in the shop, trying to open the shop-door, but I 
could not, on account of the many locks. I stood 
in the dark, opening lock after lock, and there were 
always new ones. I made a fearful noise, and I 
thought : * Now, Donna Elisa will surely come.’ 
At last the door opened, but just as I was about to 
rush out, I felt your hand at the back of my neck, 
and you pulled me in, and I kicked and kicked, and 
I struck you, because you would not let me go. 
But, Donna Elisa, you had a light with you, and 
then I saw that it was not you but mother. I dared 
not struggle any more, but felt afraid, mother being 
dead. But mother took the bundle I carried, and 
commenced taking out what was in it. Mother 
laughed, and looked pleased, and I felt so happy, 
because she was not vexed with me. It was very 
singular. What she took out of the bundle was all 


FRA GAETANO 


4 7 


the little images of saints which I had carved, while 
sitting with you in the shop, and they were so beau- 
tiful. ‘ Can you carve such beautiful images now, 
Gaetano?’ said mother. ‘Yes,’ I answered. ‘Then 
you can serve God with that,’ said mother. And 
just as mother said that, you woke me.” 

Gaetano looked triumphantly at Donna Elisa. 

“ What did mother mean by that ? ” 

Donna Elisa only wondered. Gaetano threw his 
head backwards and laughed. 

“ Mother meant that you should let me be an ap- 
prentice, so that I might serve God by carving beau- 
tiful images of angels and saints, Donna Elisa.” 


48 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


III 

THE GODSISTER 

On the noble Isle of Sicily, where more remains 
of ancient custom than anywhere else in the South, it 
is still in vogue that every person yet in childhood 
chooses for her or himself a godbrother or godsister, 
who will carry his or her child, should there be one, 
to the baptismal font. 

But this is by no means the only use which god- 
children are to each other. Godchildren must love 
each other, serve each other and revenge each other. 
In a godbrother’s ear a man may bury his secrets. 
He may intrust him with both his money and his 
betrothed without being betrayed. Godchildren are 
faithful to each other, as if they were born of the 
same mother, because their covenant is concluded 
before San Giovanni Battista, who of all the saints 
is most feared. 

It is also customary that poor people bring their 
half-grown children to the rich and beg that they 
might be godchildren with their young sons and 
daughters. What a joyful sight, is it not, to see on 
John the Baptist’s day all these little children, in 
holiday attire, roaming about through the great cities 
seeking godsisters or godbrothers! If the parents 
suceed in giving their son a rich godbrother, they 
are as happy as if they were able to leave him for 
inheritance a country estate. 


THE GODSISTER 


49 


At first when Gaetano came to Diamante, there 
was a little one who frequently went in and out of 
Donna Elisa’s shop. She had a red cloak and peaked 
hood and eight heavy, black curls, bursting forth 
from beneath the hood. Her name was Giannita and 
she was daughter to Donna Olivia, who sold vege- 
tables. But Donna Elisa was her godmother, and 
therefore the latter was anxious to do something for 
her. 

Well, when midsummer came, Donna Elisa ordered 
a carriage and rode down to Catania, which lies four 
whole miles from Diamante. She had Giannita with 
her, and both were in holiday-garb. Donna Elisa 
was dressed in black silk with beads, and Giannita 
had a white muslin dress with flowered borders. In 
her hand Giannita carried a basket of flowers, and 
uppermost among the flowers lay a pomegranate. 

The journey passed pleasantly for Donna Elisa and 
Giannita. Having at length arrived at the white 
Catania, which lies gleaming on the black lava 
foundation, they drove up to the most beautiful 
palace in the city. 

It was so tall and great, that the poor little Gian- 
nita felt very much frightened at being obliged to 
enter there. But Donna Elisa walked bravely in, 
and was ushered into the presence of Cavaliere Pal- 
meri and his wife, who owned the house. 

Donna Elisa reminded Signora Palmeri, that they 
were childhood friends, and begged that Giannita 
should be allowed to become godsister with her 
young daughter. This was granted, and the young 
signorina was called in. She was a little marvel of 
pink silk and Venetian lace, large black eyes and 
4 


50 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


thick bushy hair. Her little body was so slight and 
thin that one hardly noticed it at all. 

Giannita held out to her the basket of flowers. 
She gazed long and cautiously at Giannita, walked 
around her and fell in love with her smooth even 
curls. As soon as she had seen those, she ran after 
a knife, divided the pomegranate and gave Gian- 
nita one half. While they ate the apple, they held 
each other by the hand and both repeated : 

“ Sister, sister, sister mine ! 

Thou art mine and I am thine, 

Thine my meat, thine my cot, 

Thine my joy, thine my lot, 

Thine my place in paradise.” 

Then they kissed each other and called each other 
godsister. 

“Now you must always be faithful to me, god- 
sister,” said the little signorina, and both of them 
were very serious and deeply affected. 

They had quickly become such good friends, that 
they wept at parting. 

But after that twelve years passed, and the two 
godsisters lived each in her world and never met. 

During all this time Giannita stayed quietly in her 
home and did not come once to Catania. 

But then something wonderful actually happened. 
Giannita sat one afternoon in the room beyond the 
shop embroidering. Being very skilful at this she 
was often overwhelmed with work. But embroider- 
ing is trying to the eyes, and it was dark in Giannita’s 
room. Therefore she had placed the door ajar, that 
she might get in a little more light. 

Immediately after the clock had struck four, old 


THE GODSISTER 


51 


Rosa Alfari, the miller’s widow, came walking by. 
Donna Olivia’s shop looked very attractive when 
seen from the street. One looked in through the 
open vaulted door upon great baskets of fresh green 
vegetables, and variegated fruit, and far away in the 
back ground one saw the outlines of Giannita’s pretty 
head. Rosa Alfari stopped and began to chat with 
Donna Olivia, only because her shop looked so 
pleasant. 

Worry and distress always accompanied old Rosa 
Alfari. Now she was sad because she was obliged to 
journey alone to Catania the following night. “ It’s 
unfortunate that the mail-stage does not arrive at 
Diamante before ten,” she said, “ I’ll fall asleep on 
the way, and then perhaps my money will be stolen. 
And what shall I do when I come to Catania at two 
o’clock in the night ? ” 

Just then Giannita’s voice was suddenly heard 
saying : “ won’t you take me with you to Catania, 
Donna Alfari ? ” She asked it half jokingly without 
expecting an answer. 

But Rosa Alfari became eager. “ Deo, child, would 
you go with me ? ” she said. “ Would you really?” 

Giannita came out into the shop, flushed with joy. 
“ If I would ! ” she said. “ I have not been in Catania 
for twelve years.” 

But Rosa Alfari gazed with delight upon her, for 
Giannita was tall and strong, her eyes were bright, 
and she had a gay unconcerned smile on her lips. 
She was a glorious traveling companion. 

“Just make yourself ready,” said the old lady. 
“ You’ll accompany me at ten o’clock ; that’s de- 
cided.” 


$2 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


The following morning Giannita was strolling 
about the streets of Catania. All the while she was 
thinking of her godsister. She was strangely af- 
fected at being so near her again. She loved her 
godsister, not only because San Giovanni had com- 
manded the people to love their godsisters and god- 
brothers. She had adored the little child in the silk 
dress as the loveliest thing she had ever seen. It had 
almost become her idol. 

Concerning the godsister, she knew that she was 
still unmarried and lived in Catania. Her mother 
had died, and she had not wished to desert her 
father, but had remained as hostess in his home. “ I 
must manage to see her,” thought Giannita. 

As soon as Giannita met an elegant carriage, she 
thought : “ That may be my godsister riding there.” 
And she stared at the occupants to see if any one of 
them resembled the little girl with the thick hair and 
large eyes. 

Giannita’s heart commenced to beat violently. She 
had always longed for her godsister. She herself 
was still unmarried, because she loved a young 
image carver, Gaetano Alagona, and he had never 
shown the least inclination to marry her. Giannita 
had often felt angry with him for this, but that she 
never would be able to invite her godsister to her 
wedding aggravated her most of all. Besides, she 
had been so proud of her. She had considered her- 
self superior to others, because she had such a god- 
sister. Now that she was in the city should she go 
and see her? That would shed luster over her jour- 
ney. 

As she was thinking of this a newspaper boy came 


THE GODSfSTEFt $3 

running. “ Giornaleda Sicilia ! ” he cried. “ The Pal- 
meri affair ! Great impostures ! ” 

The tall Giannita seized the boy by the back of 
the neck, as he rushed by. “ What do you say ? ” 
she cried. “ You lie ! You lie ! ” and she nearly struck 
him. 

“ Buy my paper, signora, before you strike me,’' 
said the boy. Giannita bought the paper and began 
to read. There she immediately found about the 
Palmeri affair. “ As this case is discussed in court to- 
day,” it read, “ we will here render an account of 
the same.” Giannita read and read. She read it 
over and over again, before she understood. There 
was not a muscle in her body which did not begin 
to tremble with fright, when finally she compre- 
hended. 

Her godsister’s father, who had owned large vine- 
yards, had become ruined, because a vine disease had 
laid them waste. And this was the least. He had 
also embezzled a charity fund intrusted to him. 
He was arrested, and to-day he would appear at 
court. 

Giannita crushed together the paper, threw it on 
the street and trampled on it. That which brought 
such news deserved no better. 

Afterwards she stood completely bewildered at 
the fact that this should be in store for her, when 
she came to Catania for the first time in twelve years. 
“ O Lord,” she said, “ is there any meaning in this ? ” 

At home in Diamante no one probably had cared 
to tell her what was going on. Was it a dispensation 
of Providence that she should be here on the very 
day of the trial ? 


54 THE miracles of antichrist 

“ Listen, Donna Alfari,” she said, “ you may do 
what you please, but I must go up to the court.” 

Giannita was firm. Nothing could alter her decis- 
ion. “ Don’t you understand that it is for this and 
not on your account that God has prevailed upon 
you to take me with you to Catania ? ” she said to 
Rosa Alfari. 

Not for a moment did Giannita doubt that ther.e 
was something supernatural in connection with all 
this. 

Rosa Alfari was obliged to let her go, and she in- 
quired the way to the Palace of Justice. She stood 
among street boys and rabble, and saw Cavaliere Pal- 
meri on the bench of the accused. He was a distin- 
guished looking gentleman with white imperial and 
a white mustache. Giannita recognized him. 

She heard him sentenced to half a year’s imprison- 
ment, and to Giannita it seemed more obvious than 
ever that she was sent there by God. “ Now my god- 
sister may need me,” she thought. 

She went again out on the street and asked the 
way to Palazzo Palmeri. On the road a carriage 
passed her. She looked up and her eyes met those of 
the lady seated in the carriage. At the same mo- 
ment something told her that that was her godsister. 
She who rode was pale and bent, and had beseeching 
eyes. Giannita felt drawn to her immediately. “ You 
have made me happy many a time,” she said, “ be- 
cause I have expected joy of you. Now, perhaps I 
shall be able to reward you.” 

Giannita was filled with solemnity, as she ascended 
the high white marble staircase to Palazzo Palmeri, 
but suddenly she was seized with doubt. “ What 


THE GODSISTER 


55 


can God wish that I shall do for one brought up 
amid such splendor?” she thought. “ Does our 
Lord forget that I am only poor Giannita from Dia- 
mante ? ” 

She sent word to Signorina Palmeri, by a footman, 
that her godsister wished to speak with her. She 
was surprised, when the footman returned and an- 
swered, that she could not be received that day. 
Should she content herself with that ? O no ! O no ! 

“ Tell the signorina, that I will wait here all day, 
for I must speak with her.” 

“The signorina moves away from the palace in 
half an hour,” said the footman. 

Giannita became frantic. “ But I am her god- 
sister, her godsister, don’t you understand that?” 
she said to him. “ I must speak with her.” The 
footman smiled and did not stir. 

But Giannita would not be turned away. Was she 
not sent by God ? He must understand, she said, 
raising her voice. She came from Diamante and 
had not been in Catania for twelve years. Not be- 
fore yesterday afternoon at four o’clock had it 
occurred to her to come here. He ought to think 
of that, not before yesterday afternoon at four 
o’clock. 

The footman stood motionless and did not move. 
In hopes of softening him, Giannita was just going 
to relate the whole story, when the door was thrown 
open. Her godsister stood on the threshold. “ Who 
speaks about four o’clock yesterday ? ” she said. 

“ It is a stranger, Signorina Micaela.” 

Giannita now rushed forward. It was no stranger 
at all. It was her godsister, Giannita from Diamante, 


56 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


who came here twelve years ago with Donna Elisa. 
Did she not remember her? Did she not remember 
their having divided a pomegranate ? 

The signorina gave no heed to this. “ What hap- 
pened yesterday at four o’clock ? ” she asked anx- 
iously. 

“ It was then I received God’s command to go to 
you, godsister,” said Giannita. 

The other gazed at her in terror. “ Come with 
me,” she said, as though afraid, that the footman 
should know what Giannita had to tell her. 

She walked through several rooms before she 
stopped. Then she turned round so suddenly that 
Giannita was startled. “ Tell it instantly ! ” she said. 
“ Torture me no longer ! ” 

She was as tall as Giannita, but very unlike her. 
She was of a more slender build and she, the woman 
of the world, looked wilder and more untamed than 
the country girl. All that she felt was visible in her 
face. She did not even try to keep it concealed. 

Giannita was so amazed at her impetuosity, that 
she could not answer immediately. 

Her godsister then lifted in despair her arms above 
her head, and the words poured in torrents over her 
lips. She said she knew that Giannita had received 
command from God to bring her tidings of new mis- 
fortunes. She knew that God hated her. 

Giannita clapped her hands together. God hate 
her ! on the contrary. 

“Yes, yes,” said Signorina Palmeri. “It is so.” 
And in her heart, fearing to hear Giannita’s message, 
she continued talking. She did not allow her to 
speak, but interrupted her continually. The events 


THE GODSISTER 57 

of the last days seemed to have so terrified her that 
she haid no control over herself. 

Surely Giannita must see that God hated her, 
she said. She had done something terrible. She 
had deserted her father, betrayed her father. Gian- 
nita had of course read the fifth commandment. 
Then she broke out anew in vehement questioning. 
Why didn’t she speak out what she had to say ? She 
expected nothing but evil. She was prepared. 

But poor Giannita had no opportunity to say a 
word, for just as she was going to speak, the signorina 
became frightened and interrupted her. She related 
her history as if to prevail upon Giannita not to be 
hard towards her. 

Giannita must not think that her misfortune con- 
sisted alone, in her not having her own carriage any 
longer, or box at the theater, or beautiful dresses, 
or attendance, or even a roof over her head. Nor 
was it enough that she now had lost all her friends, 
and had nowhere to ask for shelter. Nor was it mis- 
fortune enough, that she felt such a shame, that she 
could not lift her eyes to any person’s face. 

But it was something still worse. 

She had seated herself and was silent a moment, 
while she rocked back and forth in distress. But 
when Giannita now began to talk, she interrupted 
her again. 

Giannita could not imagine how much her father 
had loved her. He had allowed her to live in luxury 
and splendor like a princess. 

She had not done much for him, had only let him 
devise grand things for her amusement. Her not 
marrying had been no sacrifice, for she had never 


58 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


loved any one as much as her father, and her own 
home had been more magnificent than any one else’s. 

But one day her father had come to her and said : 
“ They want to arrest me. They circulate reports 
that I have been stealing, but it isn’t true.” 

She had believed him, and helped to keep him 
concealed from the Carabineers. And they had 
sought him in vain in Catania, on Etna, and all over 
Sicily. 

But when the police could not find Cavaliere 
Palmeri, the people began to say : “ It is some grand 
personages that help him, else one would have found 
him long ago.” Then the prefect of Catania had 
called on her. She received him smilingly, and the 
prefect came as if to speak of roses and fair weather. 
Then he said : “ Would the signorina glance at this 
little paper? Would the signorina read this little 
letter ? Would the signorina observe this signature ? ” 
She read and read. And what did she see? Her 
father was not innocent. Her father had taken other 
people’s money. 

When the prefect had taken leave of her, she had 
gone to her father. “You are guilty,” she said to 
him. “ You may do what you like, but I can help 
you no more.” Oh, she had not known what she 
said. She had always been very proud. She had 
not been able to bear that her name had become 
branded with dishonor. For a moment, she had 
wished her father dead, rather than have this happen 
to her. Perhaps she had said as much to him. She 
hardly knew what she had said. 

But after that God had forsaken her. The most 
terrible things had happened. Her father had taken 


THE GODSISTER 


59 

her at her word. He had surrendered himself to 
justice. And ever since he had been in prison, he 
had not wished to see her. He did not answer her 
letters, and food, which she sent him, he returned, 
untouched. That was the hardest of all. He seemed 
to believe that she wanted to kill him. 

She gazed at Giannita so anxiously, as if she ex- 
pected her death-warrant. 

“ Why don’t you tell me what you have to say ? ” 
she burst out. “ You kill me.” 

But it was impossible to compel herself to be 
silent. 

“ You must know, ” she continued, “ that this palace 
is sold, and the purchaser has let it to an English 
lady, who will move in here to-day. But a few of 
her things were carried in here yesterday, and among 
these was a little image of the Christ-child. 

“ I saw it as I went through the vestibule, Gian- 
nita. They had taken it out of a portmanteau, and 
laid it out there on the floor. It was so badly used 
that no one cared about it. It had a dented crown, 
and a soiled swaddle, and all the little ornaments, 
which covered it, were rusty and injured. But when 
I saw it lying on the floor, I took it up and carried 
it into a room and placed it on a table. And while 
I did this, it occurred to me, that I should implore its 
aid. I fell on my knees before it and prayed long. 
4 Help me in my great need,’ I said to the Christ- 
child. 

“ While I prayed, it seemed to me, that the image 
wished to answer. I lifted my head, and the child 
stood there, as dumb as before, but a pendulum 
clock began striking just then. It struck four times, 


6o TJIE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

and it was as if it had said four words. It was as 
if the Christchild had answered a four-fold Yea to 
my prayer. 

“ This gave me courage, Giannita, so that to-day 
I rode up to court to see my father. But he turned 
not his eyes towards me during the whole time he 
stood before his judges. 

“ I availed myself of the opportunity when they 
were taking him away, and threw myself on my knees 
before him in one of the narrow passages. Gian- 
nita, he suffered the soldiers to push me aside, with- 
out granting me one word. 

“ Now, don’t you see that God hates me. When 
I heard you talking about four o’clock yesterday after- 
noon, I became frightened. The Christchild brings 
me fresh misfortunes, I thought. It hates me, who 
has betrayed my father.” 

When she had said this, she was silent at last, 
listening breathlessly to what Giannita would say. 
And Giannita related to her her history. 

“ Lo, is it not strange,” she said finally, “ I have not 
been in Catania for twelve years, and then wholly 
unexpectedly I am allowed to come here. And I 
know of nothing at all, but as soon as I set foot on 
the street here, I learn of your misfortune. God 
has sent for me, I said to myself. He has called me 
hither to help my godsister.” 

Signorina Palmeri’s eyes turned anxiously and in- 
quiringly towards her. Now the blow would surely 
come. She summoned all her courage to meet it. 

“ What do you wish me to do for you, godsister ? ” 
said Giannita. “ Do you know of what I was think- 
ing, as I walked on the street ? I will ask her if she 


THE GODSISTER 


6 1 


will go with me to Diamante. I know an old house 
at home, where we can live cheaply. And I would 
sew and embroider for our maintenance. Out there 
on the street, it seemed to me this could be done, 
but now I see that it is impossible, impossible. Your 
claims on life are different, but tell me if there is 
anything I can do for you. Drive me not away, for 
God has sent me.” 

The signorina leaned eagerly towards Giannita. 
“ Well,” she said anxiously. 

“ You must let me do what I can for you, because 
I love you,” said Giannita, gliding down on her 
knees and putting her arms around her. 

“ Have you nothing else to say?” asked the sig- 
norina. 

“ I wish that I had,” said Giannita, “but I’m only 
a poor thing.” 

It was wonderful to see how the features in the 
young signorina’s face now softened, how her com- 
plexion brightened, and how her eyes began to beam. 
It now became evident that she was a great beauty. 

“ Giannita,” she said softly and scarcely audibly, 
“ do you believe that it is a miracle ? Do you believe 
that God would let miracles happen for my sake ? ” 

“Yes, yes,” whispered Giannita. 

“I begged the Christchild to help me, and he 
sends me you. Do you think it was the Christchild, 
that sent you, Giannita? ” 

“ It was, it was.” 

“ God has not forsaken me then, Giannita ? ” 

“ No, God has not forsaken you.” The godsister 
sat and wept a while. It was very still in the room. 
“ When you came, Giannita, it seemed that nothing 


62 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


remained for me but to kill myself,” she said. “ I 
knew not where to go, and God hated me.” 

“ But tell me what I can do for you, godsister ? ” 
said Giannita. 

In answer the other drew her up close and kissed 
her. 

“ It is sufficient that you are sent by the little 
Christchild,” she said. “ It is enough that I know 
that God has not forsaken me.” 


DIAMANTE 


6 3 


IV 

DIAMANTE. 

Micaela Palmeri went to Diamante in company 
with Giannita. They had sat down in the mail- 
stage at three o’clock in the morning, and had 
traveled along the beautiful road encircling the 
lower slope of Etna. But it had been quite dark. 
They had seen nothing of the surrounding country. 

The young signorina, however, did not complain of 
this. She sat with closed eyes, absorbed in her great 
grief. Even when it began to grow light, she would 
not lift her eyes to look out. Not before they were 
quite near Diamante could Giannita persuade her to 
gaze at the landscape. 

“Now look! That is Diamante, your future 
home,” she said. 

Micaela Palmeri had then beheld the mighty Etna, 
which hid a large portion of the sky. Directly be- 
hind the mountain the sun rose, and when the 
upper edge of its disk peeped forth it looked as if 
the whole mountain top was on fire and sent out 
sparks and rays. But Giannita exhorted her to look 
towards the other side. 

And there she saw the whole jagged mountain 
range, which surrounds Etna like a turreted wall, 
stand blushing in the sunrise. 

But Giannita pointed in another direction. It was 
not that she wanted her to see, not that. 


64 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


Then she lowered her eyes and looked down into 
a black valley where the ground gleamed like velvet, 
and the white Simeto dashed forth down at the 
bottom of the glen. 

Still she did not turn her eyes in the right direction. 

Then at last she saw the steep Monte Chiaro ris- 
ing from the black valley, bright red in the morning 
light and surrounded by palm trees. And at the 
top she had seen a city, turreted and walled, and 
with all its windows and weather-vanes aglow with 
light. At the sight of which she had seized Gianni- 
ta’s arm, and asked her if that was a real city, and if 
people lived there. 

She thought it was one of the heavenly cities, and 
that it would disappear like a vision. She felt cer- 
tain that no human being had yet wandered along 
the road which ran zig-zag up the mountain, and dis- 
appeared within the dark city gate. 

But as she approached nearer to Diamante, and 
saw that it was real and earthly, tears rose in her 
eyes. That to her the earth still seemed beautiful 
touched her. She had believed that after it had been 
the scene of all her misfortunes, she would always 
find it hoary and faded, and strewn with thistles and 
poisonous flowers. 

She rode into the impoverished Diamante with 
folded hands, as though it were a shrine she was ap- 
proaching. And it seemed to her that this city 
could offer her not beauty only, but also happiness. 


DON FERRANTE 


65 


V 

DON FERRANTE. 

A FEW days later Gaetano stood in his workshop 
carving grape leaves on rosary beads. It was Sun- 
day, but Gaetano felt no twinge of conscience be- 
cause he was working, for was it not work to the 
glory of God ? 

A feeling of anguish and unrest had taken posses- 
sion of him. It had occurred to him, that the peace- 
ful time he had been permitted to spend with Donna 
Elisa must now be nearing its end. And he felt 
that he would soon be driven out into the world. 

For in Sicily great need prevailed, and he saw dis- 
tress wandering like a pestilence from city to city 
and from home to home, and it had come to Dia- 
mante also. 

Therefore no one ever came into Donna Elisa’s 
shop to buy anything now. The little images of 
saints which Gaetano carved stood in long rows on 
the shelves, and the rosaries hung in great clusters 
under the desk. And Donna Elisa was in great 
need and trouble because she could not earn anything. 

This was a sign to Gaetano, that he must leave 
Diamante, go out into the world, emigrate, if need 
be. For to carve images which never were wor- 
shiped, and to turn rosary beads which never glided 
between the fingers of a worshiper could not be 
working to God’s glory. 

5 


66 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


It seemed to him as if somewhere in the world 
there must be a beautiful newly built temple, the 
walls of which were erected, but as yet stood bare 
and naked inside. It waited and hoped that Gae- 
tano would come and carve chairs for the chancel 
and altar-railing and pulpit and bookstand and 
shrine. And his heart longed and pined for this 
work. 

But that cathedral was not to be found in Sicily, 
for there one never thought of building a new 
church. It must be far away in countries such as 
Florida, or Argentine, where the earth is not yet 
filled with sacred buildings. He both rejoiced and 
trembled, and had commenced to work with redou- 
bled zeal in order that Donna Elisa might have 
something to sell while he was away earning a for- 
tune for her. 

He now waited for yet another sign from God be- 
fore deciding to go. And that was that he should 
have power to speak of his longing to Donna Elisa. 
He felt that it would grieve Donna Elisa deeply, 
and he hardly knew how he should be able to mention 
it. 

While he stood thinking of this, Donna Elisa en- 
tered the workshop. Then he said to himself, that 
to-day he could not think of telling her, for to-day 
Donna Elisa was happy. Her tongue ran on, and 
her face beamed. 

Gaetano asked himself when he last had seen her 
so. Ever since distress had come upon them it had 
been like living without sunshine in one of Etna’s 
caves. 

Why had not Gaetano been up in the market and 


DON FERRANTE 


67 

heard the music ? asked Don Elisa. Why did he 
never come to hear and see her brother, Don Fer- 
rante ? Gaetano who only saw him when he stood 
in the shop dressed in stocking-cap and short jacket, 
did not know what sort of a man he was. He 
thought him an ugly old merchant, with a wrinkled 
face and rough beard. No one knew Don Ferrante, 
who had not seen him on Sunday, conducting the 
music. 

To-day he had worn a new uniform. He had a 
three-cornered hat with green and white plumes, 
silver on the collar, silver braiding on the breast, and 
a sword at the side. And when he ascended the 
conductor’s platform, the wrinkles had disappeared 
from his face, his figure had grown. He could al- 
most have been called handsome. 

When he conducted the Cavalleria, one dared 
hardly breathe. The great houses by the market- 
place had sung too. What did Gaetano think of that ! 
Donna Elisa had plainly heard a love song issuing 
from the Palazzo Geraci, and from the desolate nun- 
nery a beautifulj hymn had rolled out over the 
market. 

And when there had been a pause in the music, 
the handsome advocate Favara, who was dressed in 
black velvet coat, a large slouched hat, and a bright 
red necktie, had come forward to Don Ferrante, 
and, pointing towards the open side of the market 
from where you could see Etna and the sea, said, 
“ Don Ferrante, like Etna you lift us to the sky, and 
enrapture us like the infinite sea.” 

Had Gaetano seen Don Ferrante to-day he would 
have loved him. He would at least have been 


68 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


obliged to admit that he was stately. When he 
laid the baton aside for a while, took the advocate’s 
arm and walked back and forth with him on the 
smooth stones between the Roman portal and pa- 
lazzo Geraci, it was clearly evident that he could 
well vie with the handsome Favara. 

Donna Elisa had been sitting on the stone bench 
under the cathedral, together with the Syndic’s 
wife. And Signora Voltaro had said quite suddenly, 
after having watched Don Ferrante a while : “ Donna 
Elisa, your brother is still a young man. He may 
marry yet, in spite of his fifty years.” 

And she, Donna Elisa, had replied that she prayed 
heaven daily for this. 

But hardly had she said it when a lady, dressed 
in mourning, entered the market-place. A blacker 
object one had never seen. Not only were her dress 
and hat and gloves black, but her veil was so thick 
that it was difficult to believe that there was a white 
face behind it. 

Santissima Dio, it was as if she had hung over 
herself a pall. And she had walked slowly and bent. 
One had almost felt frightened. One had almost 
believed it was a ghost. 

Ah, yes, the whole market-place had been so full 
of merriment. The peasants, home over Sunday, 
had stood about in groups in holiday attire, with red 
shawls thrown around the neck. The peasant 
women, going to the cathedral, had glided by, dressed 
in green skirts and yellow scarfs. A couple of tour- 
ists had stood by the balustrade, watching Etna, 
and they had been dressed in white. And all the 
uniformed musicians who had been almost as fine as 


DON FERRANTE 


6 9 ' 

Don Ferrante, and the shining instruments, and the 
image-decked facade of the dome ! And the sunshine 
and Mongibello’s snowy crown, which to-day had 
seemed so near that one could almost touch it, all 
had been unparalleled in gaiety. 

Now when the poor lady in black had arrived in 
the midst of all this, everybody had stared at her, and 
some had made the sign of the cross. And the 
children had rushed down from the courthouse steps, 
where they had been riding on the railing, and fol- 
lowed at a short distance. And even the lazy Piero 
who had been lying on the edge of the balustrade, 
had raised himself on his elbow. The excitement 
could not have been greater had the black Madonna 
from the dome come walking along. 

But had it occurred to any one that it was a pity to 
stare so at her? Had any one felt sorry to see her 
walk so slowly and so bent. 

Yes, one had been touched, and that was Don Fer- 
rante. He had music in his heart, he was a kind 
man and he thought : “ Cursed be these funds which 
are raised for the needy, and which only bring people 
into trouble. Is not this the poor Signorina Palmeri, 
whose father has stolen from a charity fund, and who 
now dares not show her face for shame? ” And im- 
mediately Don Ferrante went over to the black lady 
and intercepted her just outside the church door. 

There he had saluted her and mentioned his name. 
“ If I am not greatly mistaken,” Don Ferrante had 
said, “ then you are Signorina Palmeri. I have a re- 
quest to make.” 

Whereupon she had started and stepped backward 
as if to flee, yet had remained standing. 


70 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


“ It is about my sister Donna Elisa,” he had said. 
“ She knew your mother, signorina, and she is very 
anxious to make your acquaintance. She is sitting 
here near the cathedral. Let me conduct you to 
her.” 

And without more ado, Don Ferrante had placed 
her arm on his and led her to Donna Elisa. And 
she made no resistance. Donna Elisa would have 
liked to see the one who, to-day, could have with- 
stood Don Ferrante. 

But Donna Elisa had then risen and gone to meet 
the lady in black, and thrown back her veil. And 
she had kissed her on both cheeks. 

But what a face, what a face ! Maybe it was not 
at all beautiful, but it had eyes that spoke for them- 
selves, and that mourned and wept, even when the 
whole face smiled. Gaetano would not perhaps want 
to carve or paint a Madonna from that face, for it 
was too thin and too pale, but surely the Lord knew 
what He was about when he did not place those eyes 
in a face that was rosy and plump. 

When Donna Elisa kissed her, she had laid her 
head on her shoulder, and a few short sobs had 
shaken her, and then looked up with a smile. It was 
as if the smile had said : “ Ah, is the world like this ? 
Is it so beautiful? Let me look and smile at it! 
May a poor unfortunate like myself really dare to 
look at it and be seen ? ” 

All this she had said without words, with a smile 
only. Such a face, such a face ! 

Here Gaetano interrupted Donna Elisa. “ Where 
is she now ? ” he said. “ I too must see her.” 

Then Donna Elisa looked Gaetano straight in the 


DON FERRANTE 


7 1 


eyes. And they were burning bright as though 
filled with fire, and a deep flush mounted to his tem- 
ples. 

“ You will see her betimes,” she said harshly. And 
she regretted every word she had spoken. 

Gaetano saw that she was afraid, and understood 
what she feared. And just then it flashed upon him 
to tell her that he was going away, far away to 
America. 

And it now became clear to him that this strange 
signorina must be very dangerous. Donna Elisa was 
so sure that Gaetano would have fallen in love with 
her, that she almost felt glad to hear that he in- 
tended to go away. 

For everything else seemed better to her, than a 
poor daughter-in-law whose father was a thief. 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


72 


VI 

DON MATTEO’S MISSION 

There came an afternoon when the rector, Don 
Matteo, slipped his feet into newly polished shoes, 
donned a newly brushed soutan, and arranged his 
cloak into graceful folds. His face beamed as he 
walked up the alley, and when he administered bless- 
ings upon the old women spinning at the doorposts, 
it was with motions so soft, as though it were roses 
he was distributing. 

The alley through which Don Matteo passed was 
spanned by at least seven arches, as if every other 
house wished to unite itself with its neighbor. It ran 
narrow and crooked down the mountain, half staircase 
and half street. There was always an overflow in the 
gutter, and there lay always plenty of cabbage leaves 
and orange peel to slip on. The wash clothes hung 
on lines all the way from the earth to the sky. Wet 
sleeves and apron-strings were blown by the wind 
right into Don Matteo’s face, and it felt disagreeable 
and uncanny, as if Don Matteo had been caressed 
by a corpse. 

At the end of the alley was a small, dark court, and 
there Don Matteo saw an old house, before which he 
stopped. It was large and square, and almost wholly 
without windows. It had two large outside staircases 
with immense steps, and two large doors with pon- 


DON MATTEO’S MISSION 


73 


derous locks. It had walls of lava, and a loggia 
where the green slime grew over the brick floor and 
where the cobwebs were so thick, that the lithe lizards 
came near being caught in them. 

Don Matteo lifted the knocker and struck vigor- 
ously. And immediately the women along the 
whole alley began to talk and question. 

The women washing at the market-place cistern 
dropped their washing stones and batlets, and began 
to whisper and ask : “ On what errand is Don Matteo 
out now?” They said, “Why is Don Matteo knock- 
ing at the portal of an old house that is haunted, and 
where no one dares to live except the strange signo- 
rina, whose father is in prison ? ” 

But Giannita now opened and admitted Don 
Matteo, conducting him through a long corridor which 
smelt mouldy and damp. In several places the tiles 
had loosened, and Don Matteo could look straight 
down into the cellar, where swarms of rats ran across 
the black mud floor. 

In wandering through the old house, Don Matteo’s 
good humor left him. He did not pass a staircase 
without peering suspiciously up the same, and the 
least rustle startled him. He became low-spirited, as 
though he foresaw some calamity. Don Matteo re- 
membered the little turbaned Moor who used to live 
in this house, and although he did not see him, it 
might nevertheless be said that he was conscious of 
him in one way or another. 

Finally Giannita opened a door and ushered the 
rector into a room. There the walls were naked as 
in a barn, the bed was as thin as a nun’s, and above 
it hung a Madonna, that was not worth more than 


74 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


three soldi. The rector stood staring at the little 
Madonna, till he felt the tears rise in his eyes. 

While he stood thus Signorina Palmeri came into 
the room. Her head was bowed and she walked 
slowly, as though she were wounded. When the 
rector saw her, it seemed as if he wished to say : 
“ You and I, Signorina Palmeri, have met in a strange 
old house. Are you here for the purpose of study- 
ing the Moorish inscriptions or to seek mosaics in 
the old cellars ? ” For the rector felt perplexed when 
he saw Signorina Palmeri. He could not understand 
that this noble lady was poor. He could not conceive 
that she lived in the little Moor’s house. 

He said to himself that he must rescue her from 
the haunted house and from poverty. He prayed 
the gracious Madonna for power to save her. 

Thereupon he told the signorina that he was sent 
to her by Don Ferrante Alagona. Don Ferrante had 
confided in him that she had declined his offer of 
marriage. Why ? Didn’t she know that although 
Don Ferrante appeared to be poor, standing there in 
his shop, he was nevertheless the richest man in 
Diamante. Besides Don Ferrante was of ancient 
Spanish stock, which had been highly respected, 
both at home and in Sicily. And he still owned the 
large house by the Corso which had belonged to his 
ancestors. 

While Don Matteo was speaking, he saw how the 
signorina’s face grew rigid and pale. He almost 
feared to speak plainly, for fear that she would faint. 

It was only with the greatest effort that she was 
able to answer him. The words would not pass over 
her lips. It was as if they were too detestable to 


DON MATTEO’S MISSION 


7 5 


utter. “ She could very well understand,” she said, 
“ that Don Ferrante wished to know why she had de- 
clined his offer. She had felt touched and infinitely 
grateful for it, but she could not be his wife. She 
could not marry because she brought with her as a 
marriage portion only dishonor and disgrace.” 

“ If you marry an Alagona, dear signorina,” said 
Don Matteo, “ you need not fear to be asked of 
what family you yourself are. That is a glorious old 
race. Don Ferrante and his sister are still counted 
as the first in Diamante, although they have lost all 
the family estates, and must carry on trade. Don 
Ferrante knows well that the luster of the old name 
would not be dulled by a marriage with you. Do 
not hesitate on that account, signorina, if otherwise 
you have nothing against marrying Don Ferrante.” 

But Signorina Palmeri repeated what she had said. 
Don Ferrante ought not to marry the daughter of a 
criminal. She sat there pale and despairing and, as it 
seemed, wanted to train herself to say these terrible 
words. She spoke of not wishing to obtrude herself 
upon a family who would despise her. She succeeded 
in repeating this, coldly and harshly, in a voice that 
did not tremble. 

But the more she spoke the stronger became Don 
Matteo’s desire to help her. It was as if he had 
met a queen who had been divested of her throne. 
And he was seized with a burning desire to place 
the crown again on her head, and fasten the mantle 
on her shoulder. 

Therefore Don Matteo asked her if her father 
would not soon come out of prison, and wondered 
what he would live upon. 


76 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

The signorina answered that he would live upon 
her work. 

Don Matteo inquired very seriously if she had 
asked herself how her father, who had always been a 
rich man, would be able to bear poverty. 

Now she was silent. She tried to move her lips 
and answer, but she was unable to utter a sound. 

Don Matteo talked and talked. She looked more 
and more frightened, but she would not yield. 

At last he hardly knew what to do. How should 
he save her from the haunted house, from poverty 
and from the shame which oppressed her ? At that 
moment his eyes fell upon the little image of the 
Madonna above the bed. The young signorina was 
consequently a believer. 

Inspiration from above then descended upon Don 
Matteo. He felt that God had sent him to save this 
poor woman. When he again spoke, there was a 
ring in his voice, which was strange to him. He un- 
derstood that it was by no means he alone that spoke. 

“ My daughter,” he said, rising, “ you shall 
marry Don Ferrante for your father’s sake. The 
Madonna wishes it, my daughter.” 

There was something imposing in Don Matteo’s 
manner. No one had ever seen him like that before. 
The signorina trembled, as if the voice of a spirit 
had spoken to her, and she folded her hands. 

“ Be a good and faithful wife to Don Ferrante,” said 
Don Matteo, “ and the Madonna promises you, 
through me, that your father shall have a peaceful old 
age.” 

Then the signorina perceived that it was inspira- 
tion that guided Don Matteo. It was God that 


DON MATTEO’S MISSION 


77 

spoke through him. And she dropped on her knees 
and bowed her head. “ I will do what you com- 
mand/’ she said. 

But when the rector, Don Matteo, came out of the 
little Moor’s house^ and walked up the alley, he sud- 
denly took out his breviary and commenced to read. 
And although the wet clothes flapped against his 
cheeks, and orange peel and small children lay in am- 
bush for him, he looked only in his book. He needed 
to hear God’s great words. 

Because inside the black house he had felt so con- 
fident, so sure ; but when he came out into the sun- 
shine, the promise he had given in the name of the 
Madonna began to trouble him. 

Don Matteo prayed and read and read and prayed. 
May the great God protect the woman who had be- 
lieved in him and obeyed him as though he had been 
a prophet ! 

Don Matteo turned the corner by the Corso. He 
knocked against mules with traveling signorinas on 
their backs, he went right against peasants coming 
home from work, and he pushed the old spinstresses 
and tangled their flax. Finally he reached a small, 
dark shop. It had no windows and occupied a 
corner of the old palace. The threshold was about 
a foot high, the floor was of mud, the door had al- 
ways to be left open to admit the light. The counter 
was besieged by wagoners and ass-drivers. 

And inside the counter stood Don Ferrante. His 
beard was matted, his face was one wrinkle, his voice 
hissing in anger. The wagoners asked an exorbitant 
price for the loads they had driven up from Catania. 


78 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


VII 

THE BELLS OF SAN PASQUALE 

ONE soon noticed in Diamante that Don Ferrante’s 
wife, Donna Micaela, was nothing but a child. No 
matter how much she might look like a woman of 
the world, she was nevertheless only a child. And 
more could not be expected after the life she had 
led. 

Of the world she had seen nothing but its theaters, 
museums, ball-rooms, promenades, racing grounds. 
She had never been allowed to go out on the street 
alone. She had never worked. No one had ever 
talked seriously with her. She had not even been 
in love. 

When she had moved into the summer palace, she 
forgot her sorrows as easily and quickly as a child 
would have done. And it was apparent that she 
had a child’s playful disposition, and that she could 
remodel and transform everything around her. The 
old filthy Saracen city of Diamante seemed a paradise 
to Donna Micaela. She said that she had not felt 
at all surprised when Don Ferrante had spoken to 
her at the market-place and when he had proposed 
to her. It seemed to her perfectly natural that such 
things should happen in Diamante. She had seen 
immediately that Diamante was a city, where rich 
men went about seeking after poor, unfortunate 


THE BELLS OF SAN PASQUALE 79 

signorinas in order to make them mistresses of their 
black lava palaces. 

She liked the summer palace too. The faded, cen- 
tury-old muslin, which covered the furniture told her 
stories. And she found a deep meaning in all the 
love scenes enacted between the shepherds and shep- 
herdesses on the wall panels. 

Also the mystery regarding Don Ferrante she had 
found out directly. He was by no means a common 
shopkeeper on the street of a country town. He 
was an ambitious man, who saved money in order 
that he might buy back the family estates on Etna, 
and the palace at Catania, and the castles on the 
inland mountains. And if he went about in short 
jacket and bag-cap, it was that he might all the 
sooner appear as grandee of Spain and prince of 
Sicily. 

After they were married, Don Ferrante would 
every evening throw over himself a velvet coat, take 
the guitar under his arm and, placing himself on the 
gallery-steps leading to the music-room in the sum- 
mer palace, would sing canzonets. While he sang, 
Donna Micaela dreamed that she was married to the 
noblest man on the beautiful Isle of Sicily. 

When Donna Micaela had been married a couple 
of months, her father came out of prison and settled 
down in the summer palace with his daughter. He 
was well pleased with Diamante and made friends 
with everybody. He found pleasure in conversing 
with bee-keepers and vineyard laborers, whom he 
met at Cafe Europa, and he amused himself every 
day by riding about on the slope of Etna seeking ar- 
chaeological remains. 


So 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


But he had by no means forgiven his daughter. 
He lived under her roof, to be sure, but he treated 
her as a stranger, and was never affectionate towards 
her. Donna Micaela left him alone, and took no 
notice of it. She could no longer take his anger so 
seriously to heart. This old man, whom she loved, 
imagined that he could continue hating her year after 
year ! That he could live near her, hear her speak, 
see her eyes, and be surrounded by her love and still 
keep on hating her ! Ah, he knew neither her nor 
himself ! He used to sit and dream of how it would 
be when he must confess that he was conquered, 
when he must come and show her that he loved her. 

One day Donna Micaela stood on the balcony 
waving her hand to her father, who rode away on a 
little dark brown pony, when Don Ferrante came up 
from the shop to speak to her. And what Don 
Ferrante wished to say was this, that he had suc- 
ceeded in gaining admittance for her father to “ The 
Brotherhood of the Holy Heart,” in Catania. 

But although Don Ferrante spoke very plainly, 
Donna Micaela seemed not to understand him. 

He had to repeat to her that yesterday he had 
been in Catania and procured an admittance for Cava- 
liere Palmeri to a brotherhood. He could enter 
there in a month. 

She only asked : “ What does this mean ? What 
does this mean ? ” 

“ Oh,” said Don Ferrante, “ I’m tired of buying 
your father expensive wines from the mainland, and 
I myself would sometimes like to ride Domenico.” 

When he had said this, he wanted to go. There 
was nothing further to be said. 


THE BELLS OF SAN PASQUALE 8 1 

“ But first tell me what sort of brotherhood this 
is? ” she said. — “ What it is ! A lot of old men live 
there.” — “ Poor old men ? ” “ Well, yes, not ex- 

actly rich.” — “ I suppose they have not rooms by 
themselves?” — “ No, but very large dormitories.” — 
“ And eat out of tin bowls at unlaid tables ? ” — “ No, 
they are porcelain.” — “ But without tablecloth ? ” 

— “ Well, what of that, if only the table is clean ! ” 

To quiet her he added : “ Many excellent people 
live there. If you care to know, it was not without 
hesitation that Cavaliere Palmeri was received.” 

With that Don Ferrante went. His wife felt 
grieved, but also very angry. She thought he had 
robbed himself of dignity and rank and become a 
common small shopkeeper. 

She said quite loud, although no one heard her, 
that the summer palace was only a big, ugly old house 
and Diamante a poor and miserable city. 

And of course she would not allow her father to 
move. Don Ferrante should see. 

When they had eaten dinner, Don Ferrante wanted 
to go to Caf£ Europa and play dominoes, and he 
looked for his hat. Donna Micaela took his hat and 
followed him out on the gallery running round the 
house. When they were far enough away from the 
dining-room so that her father could not hear them 
she said impetuously : 

“ Have you anything against my father? ” — “ He 
costs too much.” — “ But you are rich.” — “Who has 
put that into your head ? Don’t you see how I must 
toil ? ” — “ Let us rather restrict ourselves in some- 
thing else.” — “ Yes, I shall put a limit to something. 
Giannita has had gifts enough.” — “ No, restrict me 


82 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


in something.” — “You, you are my wife, no changes 
shall be made regarding you.” 

She was silent a moment. She reflected what she 
should say to frighten him. 

“ Do you know why I am your wife ? ” — “ Oh 
yes.” — “ Do you also know what the rector promised 
me ? ” — “ That’s the rectors business, but I do what 
I can.” — “ You have perhaps heard that I broke with 
all my friends in Catania, when I heard that my 
father had sought their aid and had been refused.” — 
“Yes, I know.” — “And that I came here to Dia- 
mante, that he might be spared seeing them ? ” — 
“They won’t come to the brotherhood.” — “When 
you know all this, are you not afraid to do anything 
against my father? ” — “ Afraid ? No, I’m not afraid 
of my wife.” 

“ Have I not made you happy ? ” she asked — “ O, 
yes,” he answered indifferently. — “ Have you not 
liked to sing to me ? Has it not pleased you that I 
have considered you the most magnanimous man in 
Sicily. Hasn’t it pleased you that I have felt at 
home in the old summer palace ? Why should all 
this end ? ” 

He laid his hand on her shoulder and warned her. 
“ Bear in mind that you are not married to a fine 
gentleman from Via Etnea ! ” — “ Oh, no.” — “ The 
customs are different up here on the mountain. 
Here wives obey their husbands. And we care 
nothing for fine words.” 

When he talked like that, she became frightened. 
The next moment she was on her knees before him. 
The night was dark, but enough light streamed 
out through the windows of the illumined rooms to 


THE BELLS OF SAN PASQUALE. 83 

enable him to see her eyes. Glorious as stars, they 
were fixed upon him in fervent prayer. 

“Be merciful! You know how I love him!” 
Don Ferrante laughed. “You should have com- 
menced with that. Now you’ve got me angry.” 
She continued to kneel perfectly still, looking up at 
him. — “ It’s well,” he said, “ that next time you know 
how to behave.” She still remained on her knees. 
Then he asked her: “ Shall I or you tell him ?” 

Donna Micaela felt ashamed that she had humili- 
ated herself. She rose and answered authoritatively : 
“ I will tell him, but not before the last day. And 
you must not let him notice anything.” 

“ No, that I won’t,” he said, mimicking her. “A 
short wailing pleases me best.” 

But when he was gone, Donna Micaela laughed 
at Don Ferrante, because he imagined that he could 
do with her father as he pleased. She knew well 
enough who would help her. 

In the cathedral at Diamante is a miracle-working 
Madonna image, and this is its history. 

A long, long time ago there lived in a cave in 
Monte Chiaro a holy hermit. One night this hermit 
dreamed that in the harbor of Catania lay a ship 
laden with images of saints, and among these was 
one, so sacred, that the Englishmen, who are richer 
than all others, would have given for it its weight in 
gold. As soon as the hermit awoke from his dream, 
he went to Catania. When he came there he saw 
that his dream was true. In the harbor lay a ship 
laden with images of saints, and among them was 
one of the holy Madonna, which was holier than all 


84 THE MIRACLES OE ANTICHRIST 

the others. The hermit now begged the captain 
not to take this image away from Sicily, but give it 
to him. The captain, however, refused. “ I will 
bring it to England,” he said, and the Englishmen 
will give me its weight in gold for it. The hermit 
renewed his entreaties. At last the captain let his 
men drive him away and hoisted sails, ready to de- 
part. 

It looked as if the holy image would be lost to 
Sicily, but the hermit fell on his knees by one of 
the lava blocks on the shore and prayed to God 
that this might not take place. And what hap- 
pened ? The ship could not start. The anchor was 
up, the sails hoisted, and the wind was favorable, 
but for three whole days the ship lay motionless, as 
though it had been a rock. On the third day the 
captain took the Madonna image and tossed it to 
the hermit, who still lay on the shore. And imme- 
diately the ship started out to sea. But the hermit 
brought the image to Monte Chiaro, and it is still 
in Diamante, where it has a chapel and an altar in 
the dome. 

Donna Micaela now went to this Madonna image 
to pray for her father. 

She found the Madonna’s chapel, which was built 
i'n a dark corner of the cathedral. There the walls 
were entirely covered with votive articles, with silver 
hearts and pictures, all of which were gifts from 
those whom Diamante’s Madonna had helped. 

The image was hewn in black marble, and when 
Donna Micaela saw it standing there in its niche, 
tall and dark and almost hidden by a golden lattice, 
it seemed to her that its face was beautiful, and that 


THE BELLS OF SAN PASQtJALE 3$ 

it beamed with tenderness. And her heart was filled 
with hope. Here was heaven's mighty queen, here 
was the good Mother Mary, here was the afflicted 
one, who understood all distress, and she would not 
suffer her father to be taken away from her. 

Here she would immediately find succor. She 
need only fall on her knees and tell her sorrows and 
the black Madonna would help her. 

While she prayed, she felt certain that Don Fer- 
rante already at this very moment changed his opin- 
ion. When she came home, he would come to meet 
her and tell her that she could keep her father. 

It was a morning three weeks later. 

Donna Micaela came out of the summer palace to 
go to morning mass, but before going to the church 
she went into Donna Elisa's shop to buy a wax 
candle. It was still so early that she feared the 
shop would not be open, but it was, and she felt 
glad to be able to bring with her a gift to the black 
Madonna. 

The shop was vacant when Donna Micaela en- 
tered, and she pushed the door back and forth that 
the bell might jingle and summon Donna Elisa. 
At last some one came, it was not Donna Elisa, 
however, but a young man. 

The young man was Gaetano, whom Donna Micaela 
knew but slightly. For Gaetano had heard so much 
about her, that he was afraid of meeting her, and 
every time she had come over to Donna Elisa, he 
had locked himself in his workshop. Donna Micaela 
knew nothing more about him than that he intended 
to leave Diamante, and that he was constantly carv- 


86 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST. 


ing holy images, that Donna Elisa might have some- 
thing to sell at home, while he earned great riches 
far away in Argentine. 

When she now saw Gaetano, she thought him so 
handsome that it gave her pleasure to look at him. 
She was then in great trouble and as restless as a 
hunted animal, but no sorrow in the world could 
hinder her from experiencing pleasure as soon as 
she saw something beautiful. 

She asked herself where she had seen him before, 
and she remembered that she had seen his face in 
her father’s splendid collection of paintings in the 
palace at Catania. There he had not been in work- 
ing-man’s blouse, but had worn a black felt hat with 
long, swaying plumes, and a broad lace collar over 
the velvet coat. And he had been painted by the 
great master Van Dyck. 

Donna Micaela asked Gaetano for a wax candle, 
and he began to look for one. And now the queerest 
thing happened ; Gaetano, who saw the little shop 
daily, seemed to be wholly unfamiliar with it. He 
sought the candles in the rosary drawer and in the 
small medal cases. He found none, and he grew so 
impatient, that he upset boxes and drawers and 
broke images. Everywhere was ruin and confusion. 
And it would be a real vexation to Donna Elisa 
when she came home. 

But Donna Micaela enjoyed seeing how he shook 
the luxuriant hair from off his face and how the 
yellowish-brown eyes gleamed like yellow wine 
when the sunshine strikes it. She found comfort in 
gazing at one so beautiful. 

And Donna Micaela apologized to the noble gen- 


THE BELLS OF SAN PASQUALE. 


87 


tlemen, whom the great Van Dyck had pamted. 
Because she had often said to them : “ Ah, signor, 
you’ve been beautiful, but so dark and so pale and 
so sad, you could not have been. And you have 
not had such flashing eyes. This the master has 
added, that painted you.” But when Donna Micaela 
saw Gaetano, she found that a face could have all 
this, and that the master had no need of adding 
anything. Therefore she apologized to the noble 
gentlemen. 

Meanwhile Gaetano had found the long candle- 
boxes which stood under the desk in the same place 
where they had always stood. And he gave her the 
candle, but he did not know what it cost, and said 
that she might come in and pay for it later. When 
she asked for something to wrap around it he was in 
such a state of anxiety that she was obliged to help 
him search. 

It troubled her that such a man should think of 
going to Argentine. 

He let Donna Micaela wrap up the candle herself 
and stood watching her meanwhile. She wished 
she had been able to tell him not to look at her 
now, when her face reflected only hopelessness and 
misery. 

Gaetano had not examined her features more than 
a moment when he sprang up on a small step-ladder, 
took down an image from the top shelf, and came 
towards her with it. It was a small gilded and 
painted wooden angel, a little San Michele in strife 
with the arch-enemy, which he drew forth out of 
paper and cotton. 

This he handed to Donna Micaela, and begged her 


88 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


to accept it. He wished to give it to her, he said, be- 
cause it was the best he had ever carved. He felt so 
certain that it possessed greater power than his other 
images, that he had put it away on the highest 
shelf. 

He had charged Donna Elisa to sell it only to 
some one who had a great sorrow. And now 
Donna Micaela must take it. 

She hesitated. She thought him almost too 
bold. 

Gaetano, however, bade her see how well the image 
was carved. Did she notice that the archangel’s 
wings were ruffled in anger, and that Lucifero 
pressed his claw into the iron splint on his leg ? Did 
she see how San Michele ran the spear through 
Lucifero, and how he scowled and pressed his lips 
together. 

He wanted to place the little image in her hand, 
but she pushed it away gently. She saw very well 
that it was beautiful and powerful, she said, but she 
knew that it could not help her. She thanked him 
for his gift, but she could not take it. 

Gaetano then snatched the image away, rolled it 
up and put it back in its place. 

And not before it was wrapped up and put away 
did he speak to her. 

But then he asked her why she came to buy wax 
candles, if she was not a believer. Did she mean to 
say that she did not believe in San Michele ? Did- 
n’t she know that he was the mightiest among the 
angels and that it was he who had vanquished Luci- 
fero and pitched him down into Etna? Did she 
doubt that it was true ? Didn’t she know that dur- 


THE BELLS OF SAN PASQUALE 89 

ing the struggle, San Michele lost a wing-feather and 
that it was found in Caltanisetta ? Did she know it, 
or didn't she know it ? Or what did she mean by 
saying that San Michele could not help ? Was it 
her belief, then, that no saints could help? And 
there he stood in his workshop every day, carving 
images of saints ! Would he do that if it were of no 
use? Did she think he was a deceiver? 

But as Donna Micaela was as stanch a believer as 
Gaetano, she considered his speech unjust, and it 
roused in her a spirit of opposition. 

“ Nevertheless, it sometimes happens, that saints 
cannot help,” she said to him. And when she saw 
that Gaetano looked distrustful she could not resist 
the strong desire she felt of convicting him, and she 
said to him, that one had promised her, in the name 
of the Madonna, that if she became a faithful wife to 
Don Ferrante her father should enjoy a happy old 
age. But now her husband wanted to place her 
father in an asylum, which was as poor as an alms- 
house, and as strict as a prison. And the Madonna had 
not averted it ; in eight days it would take place. 

Gaetano listened to her with profound gravity. It 
was this which induced her to confide the whole 
story to him. 

“ Donna Micaela,” he said, “ you must go to the 
black Madonna in the cathedral.” 

“ You believe, then, that I haven’t asked her ? ” 

Gaetano blushed, and said almost in anger : “ You 
don’t mean to say that you have turned to the black 
Madonna in vain?” 

“ I have prayed to her in vain these last three weeks, 
implored her, implored her.” 


90 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

When Donna Micaela told about this, she could 
hardly breathe. She wanted to weep over herself, 
because every day she had expected succor, and every 
day she had been disappointed, and yet had known 
no other expedient than to begin her prayers anew. 

And one saw on her face that her soul lived 
through again what she had suffered, as she daily 
had expected her prayer would be granted, and time 
had slipped away for her. 

But Gaetano was not moved, but stood smiling 
and drummed on one of the glass boxes standing on 
the desk. 

“ Have you only prayed to the Madonna? ” he said. 

Only prayed, only prayed ! Why she had prom- 
ised her to sin no more. She had gone to the alley, 
where she had first lived, and nursed the sick woman 
with the ulcer on her leg. She never passed a beg- 
gar without giving him something. 

Only prayed ! And she said to him that if the 
Madonna had been able to help her, she ought to 
have been satisfied with her prayers. She had spent 
most of her time in the cathedral. And the an- 
guish, the anguish, which tortured her. Would not 
that be counted ? He only shrugged his shoulders. 
Had she tried nothing else ? 

Nothing else ! But there was nothing in the world, 
which she had not tried. She had given silver hearts 
and wax candles. She sat constantly at her rosary. 

Gaetano irritated her. He would count nothing 
she had done, and only asked : “ Nothing else?” 

“ Nothing else ? ” 

“ But you ought to know,” she said. “ Don Fer- 
rante gives me but very little money. I can do no 


THE BELLS OF SAN PASQUALE 9 1 

more. Now at last I have succeeded in procuring 
silk and satin for an altar-cloth : “You ought to 
understand ! ” 

But Gaetano, who associated with saints every day, 
and knew how they who compelled God to grant 
their prayers were carried away with frenzy and en- 
thusiasm, smiled derisively at Donna Micaela, who 
believed she could compel the Madonna with wax 
candles and altar-cloths. 

He answered her that he understood very well. It 
was always so with the poor saints. The whole 
world implored their aid, but few knew how they 
should act in order to be heard. And afterwards it 
was said that the saints had no power. All who 
knew how to pray were helped. 

Donna Micaela looked up in lively expectation. 
There was so much power and conviction in 
Gaetano’s words, that she began to believe that he 
would teach her the right and saving word. 

But Gaetano took the candle, lying before her on 
the counter, and threw it back into the drawer and 
told her what she ought to do. He forbade her to 
give gifts to the Madonna, or to pray to her, or do 
anything for the poor. He said he would tear her 
altar-cloth to pieces if she sewed another stitch on it. 

“ Show her, Donna Micaela, that it really concerns 
you,” and he riveted his penetrating eyes upon her. 
“ Good Heavens, you ought to be able to contrive 
to do something which will show her that you are in 
earnest. You ought to be able to show her that 
without succor you will not live. 

“Do you intend to remain faithful to Don Fer- 
rante if he sends your father away ? I suppose you 


92 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

do. If the Madonna need not fear for what you 
may come to do, why should she help you ? ” 

Donna Micaela moved backwards. He quickly 
came out from behind the counter and held her by 
the sleeve. 

“ Do you understand? You must show her that 
you can throw away yourself if aid is denied you, that 
you can give yourself up to sin and death, if you do 
not get what you want. It is in that way one com- 
pels the saints.” 

She tore herself away from him and went without 
a word. She hurried up the winding street, came to 
the dome, and, greatly frightened, threw herself down 
before the black Madonna’s altar. 

This happened on Saturday morning, and on Sun- 
day evening Donna Micaela saw Gaetano again. It 
was beautiful moonlight, and in Diamante it is cus- 
tomary that on moonlight nights all leave their 
homes and go out into the street. As soon as the 
inmates of the summer palace had come outside the 
door, they had met acquaintances. Donna Elisa had 
then taken Cavaliere Palmeri’s arm, and the Syndic 
Voltaro had joined Don Ferrante to discuss politics, 
but Gaetano approached to Donna Micaela, because 
he wished to hear if she had followed his advice. 

“ Have you ceased to sew on the altar-cloth ? ” he 
said. 

But Donna Micaela answered that she had sewed 
on it all day yesterday. 

“ Then verily it is you yourself who is ruining your 
cause, Donna Micaela.” 

“Yes, that is now beyond assistance, Don 
Gaetano.” 


THE BELLS OF SAN PASQUALE 


93 


She managed so that they kept at a distance from 
the others, because there was something she wanted 
to tell him. And when they came to Porta Etnea, 
she passed out through the gate, and they followed 
the paths which steal along under the palm-groves of 
Monte Chiaro. 

They could not have walked on the crowded street. 
Donna Micaela’s speech was such that the people of 
Diamante would have stoned her had they heard her. 

She asked Gaetano if he had ever seen the black 
Madonna in the cathedral. She had not seen her 
before yesterday. Perhaps the Madonna had placed 
herself in such a dark corner of the dome in order 
that no one might see her. Why, she was black and 
had a black lattice in front of her. No one could 
see her. 

But to-day Donna Micaela had seen her. To-day 
the Madonna had had a festival, and she had been 
taken down from the niche. The floor and walls in 
her chapel had been decorated with white almond 
flowers, and she herself had stood on the altar, dark 
and tall amid this display of flowers. 

But when Donna Micaela saw the image, she fell 
into despair. For that image represented no Ma- 
donna. No, the one she had prayed to was no Ma- 
donna ! O, what a shame ! It was only an old god- 
dess. He who had seen anything could not make a 
mistake in this. She had no crown, but a helmet ; 
she had no child on her arm, but a shield. It was 
Pallas Athene. It was no Madonna. O, no ! 

To think that one here in Diamante should wor- 
ship such an image. To think that one here should 
set up such a blasphemy and worship it ! Did he 


94 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


know what the worst misfortune was ? Their Ma- 
donna was so ugly. She was mouldering, and she 
had never been a work of art. She was so ill-look- 
ing, that one could not bear to look at her. 

To have been fooled by all the thousand votive 
things hanging in the chapel, to have been fooled by 
all the legends told about her! To have wasted 
three weeks in praying to her! Now see, why she 
hadn’t been succored ! It was no Madonna, it was 
no Madonna. 

They walked along the road which runs round 
Monte Chiaro below the city wall. The whole world 
around them was white. White mist enwreathed 
the foot of the mountain, and the almond-trees over 
there on Etna were perfectly white. Now and then 
they themselves passed under an almond-tree whose 
glittering branches were so full of blossoms that 
they appeared to have been dipped in a bath of 
silver. The moonlight was so intense, that every 
thing was deprived of its color, and became white. 
One might almost wonder that one could not feel it, 
that it gave no heat, that the eyes were not daz- 
zled. 

Donna Micaela wondered if it was the moonlight, 
which subdued Gaetano, so that he did not seize her 
and throw her down into Simeto, when she blas- 
phemed the black Madonna. 

He walked calmly and silently by her side, but she 
was afraid of what he might do. Yet in spite of her 
fear she could not persuade herself to keep silent. 

What still remained to be told was most terrible. 
She said that the whole day she had tried to think of 
the real Madonna and had recalled all the images of 


THE BELLS OF SAN PASQUALE 95 

her, which she knew. But it had all been in vain, 
because as soon as she thought of heaven's radiant 
queen, the old black goddess came and placed her- 
self between. And she saw her coming like a dried 
up and officious old maid obscuring the great queen 
of heaven, so that for her there was now no longer 
any Madonna. She believed that the holy Mother 
was angry with her because she had done too much 
for the other one, and that she hid her countenance 
and grace from her. But on account of the false 
Madonna, misfortune would now fall upon her father. 
Now she would no longer be allowed to keep him in 
her home. Now she would never gain his forgive- 
ness. O God, O God ! 

And all this she repeated to Gaetano, who honored 
the black Madonna of Diamante more than anything 
else. 

He now came quite close to Donna Micaela, and 
she feared that it was her last moment. She said in 
a feeble voice, as if to justify herself : “ I am insane. 
This anguish makes me insane. I never sleep." 

But Gaetano had walked quietly beside her, think- 
ing only of what a child she was, and how wholly 
ignorant she was of how to get on in life. 

He was hardly aware of it himself, before he had 
drawn her, gently, close up to him and kissed her, 
because she was such a lost, helpless child. 

She was so wonderstruck that it did not occur to 
her to get away. And she neither screamed nor fled. 
She understood immediately that he kissed her as 
one kisses a child. She only walked on faster and 
then began to cry. Just this kiss had made her feel 
how powerless and forsaken she was, and how she 


9 6 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

longed for someone who was kind and strong to take 
care of her. 

It was terrible to think that although she had both 
father and husband, she should feel so forsaken, that 
this stranger should need to feel compassion for her. 

When Gaetano saw how her figure trembled with 
suppressed sobs, he too began to quiver. 

A strong, passionate feeling took possession of 
him. 

Again he came close to her and laid his hand on 
her arm. And when he spoke, his voice was not 
clear and distinct, but coarse and stifled with emo- 
tion. 

“ Will you fly with me to Argentine if the Ma- 
donna does not help you ? ” 

Now Donna Micaela shook him off. She felt at 
once that he no longer spoke to her as to a child. She 
turned and went back to the city. Gaetano did not 
follow her, but remained standing on the road, where 
he had kissed her, and it seemed as though he never 
more could leave this spot. 

For two days Gaetano dreamed about Donna 
Micaela, but on the third he came over to the sum- 
mer palace to speak with her. 

He met her on the roof terrace, and he told her 
immediately that she must fly with him. 

He had thought of it ever since they had parted. 
He had stood in his shop brooding over all that had 
happened, and now everything was clear to him. 

She was a rose, which the powerful sirocco had 
torn from its twig and rudely whirled away through 
the air, that she might find all the better rest and 
protection near a heart that loved her. She ought 


THE BELLS OF SAN PASQUALE Q 1 / 

to understand that God and all the saints wished 
and demanded that they should love each other, 
else those great misfortunes had not brought her to 
him. And if the Madonna refused to help her, then 
it was because she wished to release her from her 
promise of fidelity to Don Ferrante. For all the 
heavenly ones knew that she was his, Gaetano’s. 
For him she was created, for him she had grown up, 
for him she lived. When he had kissed her on the 
road in the moonlight, he had been like a lost 
child, that long had roamed in the wilderness, and 
now had come at last to home’s portal. He possessed 
nothing. But she was his home and his hearth, she 
was the inheritance God had intended for him, the 
only thing in the world that was his. 

Therefore he would not leave her behind. She 
must go with him, she must, she must. 

He did not fall on his knees before her. He stood 
talking to her with clenched hands and flashing eyes. 
He did not beg her, he commanded her to accompany 
him, because she was his. 

It was no sin to carry her away, but rather his duty 
to do so. 

Donna Micaela listened to him without making a 
movement. She was silent for some time, even after 
he had ceased speaking. 

“ When are you going ? ” she asked at length. 

“ I leave Diamante next Saturday.” 

“ And when does the steamer go ? ” 

“ Sunday night from Messina.” 

Donna Micaela rose and went over towards the 
terrace steps. 

“ My father goes to Catania on Saturday,” she 

*3 


98 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

said. “ I shall ask Don Ferrante, to allow me to 
accompany him there.” 

She descended a few steps, as if she intended to 
say no more. Then she stopped. “ If you meet me 
in Catania then, I will follow you wherever you wish.” 

She hurried down the stairs. Gaetano did not try 
to detain her. A time would come when she would 
not flee from him. He knew she could not help 
loving him. 

Donna Micaela had passed all Friday afternoon in 
the cathedral. She had come to the Madonna and 
prostrated herself before her in despair. “ O, Ma- 
donna mia, Madonna mia ! Shall I to-morrow be a 
runaway wife? Will the people have a right to 
speak all manner of ill of me ? ” And then every- 
thing seemed to her equally terrible. She was terri- 
fied at the thought of fleeing with Gaetano, and she 
did not know how she could remain with Don Fer- 
rante. She hated them both. Neither of them, it 
seemed, could offer her anything but misery. 

She saw well enough that the Madonna could not 
help her. And now she finally asked herself if it 
would not be greater misery to flee with Gaetano 
than to remain with Don Ferrante. Was it worth the 
trouble, that she ruined herself for the sake of wreak- 
ing vengeance on her husband ? 

And could there be anything more detestable than 
to run away with a man whom she did not love ? 

She writhed in pain. The whole week she was 
harassed by a consuming anxiety. The worst thing 
was, that she never could sleep. Her thoughts were 
no longer clear and sane. 

Again and again she began her prayers anew. But 


THE BELLS OF SAN PASQUALE 


99 


then she thought : “ The Madonna cannot help me.” 
And immediately she ceased praying. 

Then she happened to think of past sorrows and 
she remembered the little image which had helped 
her when she had been in equally great despair. 

She turned with enthusiastic zeal to the poverty- 
stricken, little child. “Help me, help me! Help my 
aged father, and help me that I be not tempted to 
wickedness and revenge !” 

When she retired that night, she still continued to 
struggle and feel distressed. “ If I only could sleep 
one hour,” she said, “ I should know what I wanted.” 

Gaetano was to start early the following morning. 
She finally made up her mind to speak with him before 
he went, and tell him that she could not accompany 
him. She could not bear to be considered a fallen 
woman. 

No sooner had she decided this, than she fell asleep. 
She did not wake until the clock struck nine the next 
morning. And then Gaetano had already gone. She 
could not tell him that she repented. 

But she did not think of that either. While she 
slept something new and strange had come over her. 
It seemed to her that during the night she had 
lived in heaven and inhaled bliss. 

Who of the saints is of greater benefit to the people 
than San Pasquale ? Does it not sometimes happen 
that they stand talking in some lonely place in the 
woods or fields, and that they are either talking ill 
of someone or planning something foolish. Well, 
just as they are talking and talking they suddenly 
hear a rustle near by, causing them to turn round and 


100 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


wonder if anyone threw a stone at them. It’s of no 
use to look around, or to run and seek for the one 
who threw the stone. For that stone came from San 
Pasquale. As surely as there is justice in heaven, 
it was San Pasquale who, hearing them talk about 
something wicked, threw one of his. stones to warn 
them. 

And he who does not like to be disturbed when he 
is planning wickedness, must not console himself by 
thinking that San Pasquale’s stones will soon be 
gone. They will certainly never give out. They are 
so numerous, that they will last to the end of time. 
For when San Pasquale walked here on earth, do you 
know what he did ? Do you know what he was think- 
ing of most of all ? 

San Pasquale noticed all the little flint-stones lying 
in his path and gathered them up in his bag. You, 
signor, you will hardly stoop to pick up a soldo, but 
San Pasquale picked up every little flint-stone, and 
when he died, he took them all with him up to 
heaven, and there he now sits throwing them at all 
who are about to do something foolish. 

But this is by no means the only good San Pasquale 
does mankind. It is also he who gives signs if any- 
one is going to be married, or if anyone is going to 
die, and he can make signs in other ways too. Old 
mother Saradda in Randazzo sat by her daughter’s 
sick-bed one night and fell asleep. But the daughter 
lay unconscious and was near death, and no one could 
notify the priest. How then was the mother awakened 
in time? How was she awakened so that she could 
send her husband to the rectory ? Simply by a chair 
that began to rock back and forth and creak and 


THE BELLS OF SAN PASQUALE IOI 

crack till she woke. And it was San Pasquale who 
did it. 

Who but San Pasquale would think of such a 
thing ? 

There is still another thing to be told about San 
Pasquale. It was the tall Kristoforo from Tre Cas- 
tagni. He was not a wicked man, but he had one 
bad habit. He never could open his mouth with- 
out swearing. If he said two words, one of them 
was sure to be an oath. And do you think it availed 
however much his wife and neighbors admonished 
him? But over his bed he had a little picture repre- 
senting San Pasquale, and that little image succeed- 
ed in helping him. Every night it swung back and 
forth in its frame ; it swung fast or slowly, according 
as he had sworn during the day. And he noticed 
that he should not be able to sleep a single night 
until he had given up swearing. 

In Diamante San Pasquale has a church, lying just 
outside Porta Etnea, a short distance down the 
mountain. It is small and poor, but the white walls 
and the red cupola lie beautifully imbedded in a grove 
of almond trees. 

Therefore as soon as the almond trees blossom in 
the spring San Pasquale’s church becomes the most 
beautiful in Diamante. 

San Pasquale’s church is very unfortunate and for- 
saken, because service can never be held there. 
When the Garibaldists, who rescued Sicily, came 
to Diamante, they encamped in San Pasquale and in 
the Franciscan monastery, close by the church. And 
into the church itself they brought dumb animals, 
and carried on such a wild life with women and cards 


102 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

there, that ever since it has been considered unholy 
and unclean, and never more been opened for service. 

Therefore it is only when the almond trees are in 
blossom, that strangers and great people notice San 
Pasquale. For although the whole slope of Etna is 
then white with almond blossoms, the best and largest 
trees, however, stand around the old condemned 
church. But poor people in Diamante come to San 
Pasquale all the year round. For although the 
church is always closed, one goes there to ask advice 
of the saint, of whom there is an image just at the 
entrance under a large baldachin ; and it is customary 
to entreat it to foretell something of the future. No 
one predicts the future better than San Pasquale. 

Now just that morning, when Gaetano left Dia- 
mante, it happened that the clouds came driving down 
from Etna, so thick, as if they had been dust raised 
by innumerable armies, and they filled the whole sky 
like dark-winged dragons, and they vomited rain, and 
they sputtered out mist and darkness. And the air 
became so thick over Diamante, that one could not 
see across the street. It was damp and wet every- 
where, the floor was just as wet as the ceiling, the 
doorposts became dripping, the balustrades full of 
drops, the mist hung in the passages and rooms, so 
that one might have thought them full of smoke. 

But this very morning at an early hour, before the 
rain had commenced, a rich English lady rode in her 
large traveling-carriage from Catania to make the 
tour round Etna. When she had ridden a few hours, 
the terrible rain commenced, enveloping everything 
in a mist. 

As she did not wish to miss seeing the glorious re- 


THE BELLS OF SAN PASQUALE 103 

gions through which she passed, she decided to drive 
into the nearest city and remain there, till the storm 
had passed over. And this city was no other than 
Diamante. 

The English lady was Miss Tottenham, and it was 
she who had moved into Palazzo Palmeri in Catania. 
Among other things which she brought with her in 
her trunks was the image of Christ, whose help 
Donna Micaela had invoked the previous evening. 
The image, which now was both old and badly used, 
she constantly carried with her as a remembrance of 
an old friend, whose riches she had inherited. 

One might have believed that San Pasquale knew 
what a great miracle-worker the image was, for it 
seemed as though he wished to greet him. At the 
same moment that Miss Tottenham’s carriage drove 
through Porta Etnea the bells began to ring in San 
Pasquale’s church. 

And they rang the whole day entirely of their own 
accord. 

San Pasquale’s bells are not much larger than those 
used on farms to call the laborers home and like 
those they hang on top of the roof under a little 
hood, and are put into motion by pulling a rope 
hanging down along the church-wall. 

It is not heavy work to make the bells ring, never- 
theless they are not so light that they swing entirely 
by themselves. He who has seen old Fra Felice from 
the Franciscan monastery put his foot in the loop 
of the rope and work it up and down to set them in 
motion, may well know that the bells could not 
begin to ring without help. 

But that is just what they did that morning. The 


104 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

rope was tightly fastened to a cramp-iron in the wall, 
and there was no one who touched it. Nor did any- 
one sit crouching under the hood and set them in 
motion. One saw distinctly how the bells swung 
back and forth, and how the clappers struck against 
the metal mouth. How they had been put in motion 
no one knew. 

When Donna Micaela woke, the bells were already 
ringing, and she lay still a long time listening and 
listening. She had never heard anything sweeter. 
She did not know, that it was a miracle. She lay there, 
thinking how beautiful it was. She lay wondering if 
real metal bells could sound like that. 

And there is no knowing what kind of metal it was, 
which chimed in San Pasquale’s bells that day. 

It seemed to her that the bells told her that now 
she would be happy, now she would live and love, 
now she would go to meet something grand and 
beautiful, now she would nevermore regret and never 
be sad. 

Her heart began to dance to some sort of stately 
measure, and under the ringing of bells she marched 
solemnly into a great castle. And to whom could the 
castle belong, who could be master of such a magni- 
ficent place, if not love ? 

It can no longer be concealed ; when Donna Micaela 
awoke, she felt that she loved Gaetano and that she 
desired nothing higher than to be allowed to accom- 
pany him. 

And when Donna Micaela drew the shutter from 
her window and saw the gray morning she sent it a 
kiss and whispered : “ O, morning of the day, when I 

may depart, you are the loveliest morning I have ever 


THE BELLS OF SAN PASQUALE 105 

beheld, and although you are so gray, I would like to 
kiss and caress you.” 

But she liked the bells most. 

From this one may certainly know that her love 
was strong, for to all others it was distressing to listen 
to these bells, that would not cease ringing. No one 
minded them during the first half hour. During the 
first half hour one scarcely heard them, but during the 
second and third ! 

Do not think that San Pasquale’s little bells could 
not make themselves heard. They have always had 
a powerful sound, and now it was as if the sound in 
them grew and grew. Soon it seemed as if there was 
nothing but bells up in the mist, as if the whole sky 
was full of them, although one could not see them on 
account of the clouds. 

When Donna Elisa first heard the ringing, she 
thought it was San Guiseppe’s little bell, and after- 
wards that it was the cathedral bell itself. Then she 
thought she heard the Dominican monastery bell also, 
and at last she knew for certain that all the bells of 
the city were ringing with all their might, all the bells 
in the five monasteries and the seven churches. It 
seemed to her she could distinguish them all, until 
she asked and learned, that it was only San Pasquale’s 
small bells that rang. 

During the first hours, and before it was yet known 
everywhere that the bells rung entirely of themselves, 
one only noticed that the rain-drops kept time with 
the ringing, and that all who spoke had a clear, ring- 
ing voice. One also found that it was impossible to 
play either mandolin or guitar, because the sound of 
the bells mingled with the music and made it deafen- 


10 6 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

ing, nor could one read, because the letters swung 
back and forth like clappers. 

Soon the people could not bear the sight of flowers 
that hung on long stems, because they imagined 
that they too swung back and forth. And they com- 
plained that they no longer had odor, but sound 
only. 

Others, however, declared that the mist which filled 
the air moved in time to the sound of the bells, and 
they said that all clock pendulums went by them and 
that all who passed by out in the rain tried to do 
likewise. 

And that was when the bells had rung only a few 
hours and when the people still laughed at them. 

But the third hour the ringing seemed to increase 
still more, and then some stuffed cotton in their ears, 
while others buried themselves in pillows. But not- 
withstanding this, one felt how the air vibrated, and 
how everything moved in time. And they who 
fled into the dark attic heard the sound of the bells 
clearly and distinctly as though it came from the 
sky, and they who fled into the cellar heard the 
sound there, rolling and rumbling, as though San Pas- 
qual’s church stood in the lower regions. 

And all the people of Diamante began to be 
frightened except Donna Micaela, who was protected 
from all fear by love. 

Now they began to think that it must signify 
something that it was San Pasquale’s bells that 
rang. And all began to ask what the saint predicted. 
Each one had his or her own fear, and be- 
lieved that San Pasquale augured just what was 
least wanted. And every one had some conscience- 


THE BELLS OF SAN PASQUALE 10/ 

burdening deed to remember and believed that San 
Pasquale called down punishment for it particularly. 

But towards noon, as the bells still continued to 
ring, one felt sure that San Pasquale rang down 
such calamity over Diamante that one could not ex- 
pect less than that all the people should die during 
the year. 

And the pretty Giannita came weeping to Donna 
Micaela and complaining that it was San Pasquale 
who rang. O God, if it had only been another than 
San Pasquale ! ” 

“ He sees something terrible coming,” said 
Giannita. “ The mist does not hinder him from see- 
ing as far as he likes. He sees an enemy’s fleet ap- 
proaching on the sea. He sees arising from Etna a 
cloud of ashes' which will fall upon us and bury us.” 

But Donna Micaela smiled, thinking that she knew 
very well what San Pasquale was thinking of. “ He 
is ringing a dirge over the beautiful almond flowers 
which the rain destroys,” she said to Giannita. 

She felt no alarm, for she believed that the bells 
rang only for her. They lulled her into dreams. 
She sat quite still in the music-room, and let joy 
hold sway within her. But in the whole world abound 
her was fear and uneasiness and anxiety. One 
could no longer sit quietly at one’s work. One could 
think of nothing but the great disaster which San 
Pasquale predicted. 

One began to give the beggars more gifts than 
they had ever had before ; but the beggars were not 
pleased, as they did not believe they would be per- 
mitted to live to see the morrow. And the priests 
could in nowise feel glad, although they had so many 


108 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

penitents, that they were obliged to sit in the con- 
fessional all day, and although gift upon gift was 
placed before the altars of the saints. 

Not even Vicenzo da Lozzo, the letter writer, re- 
joiced at the day, although many besieged his writing- 
table under the court-house loggia, and would gladly 
pay a soldo per word, if he would write for them on 
this, the last day, a farewell message to the absent 
loved ones. 

There was no possibility of keeping school that 
day, for the children cried the whole time. At noon 
the mothers came, their faces rigid with fright, and 
took the little ones home with them, so that they 
might at least be together if anything happened. 

Likewise all tailor and shoemaker apprentices had 
a holiday. But the poor boys dared not enjoy it, 
but would rather remain in the workshop and wait. 

And the ringing still continued in the afternoon. 

Then the old porter at Palazzo Geraci, where now 
only beggars live, who himself is a beggar clad in 
rags, donned the light green velvet livery, which he 
only uses at the feasts of the saints and on the king’s 
birthday. And no one saw him sitting there in his 
doorway, wearing this splendor, without a shudder 
of fear, for one well knew that the old man expected 
that nothing less than ruin would rush in through the 
gate he was watching. 

It was pitiful how the people frightened each 
other. 

Torino, poor fellow, who once had been a well-to- 
do man went from house to house proclaiming that 
now the time had come when all who had deceived 
and impoverished him would be punished. He 


THE BELLS OF SAN PASQUALE IO9 

went into all the little shops along the Corso, struck 
the counter with his hand and declared that now 
every one in the city would be judged, because they 
had been unanimous in ruining him. 

And what one heard about the card party at Cafe 
Europa was equally frightful. The same four 
players had sat there at the card-table year after 
year, and it had never occurred to any one that they 
could do anything else. But now all of a sudden 
they dropped the cards and promised each other that 
if they escaped death this day, they would never 
touch them again. 

Donna Elisa’s shop was packed with people, and to 
move the saints and avert the impending danger, 
they bought all the sacred things she had to sell. 
But Donna Elisa was only thinking of Gaetano, who 
was absent, and believed that San Pasquale pre- 
dicted that he would be lost during the journey, and 
felt no joy whatever over all the money she was 
earning. 

But when San Pasquale’s bells continued to ring 
all the afternoon, it seemed almost beyond endurance. 

Because now every one knew that it was the earth- 
quake they portended, and that all Diamante would 
become a heap of ruins. 

In the alleys, where the houses themselves seemed 
to fear the earthquake and huddled close together for 
mutual support, the people moved their miserable 
old furniture out on the street in the rain, and 
stretched tents of bed-quilts over them. And they 
even carried out the little children in their cradles, 
sheltering them under large boxes. 

In spite of the rain there was such a bustle on the 


IIO 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


Corso, that one could hardly force one’s way through. 
For all must pass through Porta Etnea to see the 
bells swing and swing, and convince themselves that 
no one touched the rope. And all who came there, 
fell on their knees on the road, where the water ran 
in streams and the mud was bottomless. 

The gates of San Pasquale’s church were closed as 
always, but outside, the old gray friar Fra Felice 
went around among the suppliants with a brass plate 
and received gifts. 

One by one the terrified people walked up to the 
image of San Pasquale, under the baldachin, and 
kissed its hand. One elderly woman came carrying 
something very carefully and sheltering it with a 
green umbrella. It was a glass of water and oil, in 
which a little wick swam and flickered with a feeble 
flame. She placed it before the image, and knelt 
before it. 

Although it occurred to many that one ought to 
try to fasten the bells, there was no one who dared 
propose it, because one dared not silence the voice 
of God. 

Neither did anyone dare to say that it was a de- 
vice of old Fra Felice to collect money. Fra Felice 
was loved. Woe to him who had said anything 
of the kind. 

Donna Micaela also came out to San Pasquale and 
brought her father with her. She came with head 
erect and wholly without fear. She came there to 
thank Him, who rang in the great passion into 
her soul. “ My life begins this day ” she said to 
herself. 

Neither did it appear as though Don Ferrante was 


THE BELLS OF SAN PASQUALE III 

afraid, but more grim and cross than ever. Because 
it seemed that all felt they must go to him in the 
shop, and tell him what they thought and hear his 
opinion, as he was an Alagona, and had ruled the city 
many years. 

The whole day panic-stricken, trembling people 
came into his shop. And all came up to him and 
said : “ What a terrible ringing, Don Ferrante. 
What will become of us, Don Ferrante?” 

There was hardly any one of the inhabitants of 
Diamante, who did not come into Don Ferrante’s 
shop to consult with him. As long as the ringing 
lasted, they stood leaning on the counter without 
buying for as much as a soldo. 

Even Ugo Favara, the spleeny advocate, came in- 
to the shop and taking a chair sat down behind the 
counter. And the whole day Don Ferrante had 
him sitting there, deathly pale, entirely motionless, 
suffering unheard-of torture without uttering a word. 

But every five minutes Torino-il-Martello came in 
and struck the counter saying that now the time had 
come when Don Ferrante would have his punish- 
ment. 

Don Ferrante was a hard man, but he could not 
escape the bells. And the longer he heard them, 
the more he began to wonder why all the people 
crowded into his shop, as if they meant something 
in particular. It was as if they wanted to make him 
responsible for the ringing and for the evil it por- 
tended. 

He had not told any one, but he supposed his 
wife had circulated it. He began to believe that 
everybody thought of the same thing, although they 


112 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


dared not say it. He imagined that the advocate 
sat expecting that he would yield. He believed that 
the whole city came in to see if he really would 
dare to send his father-in-law away. 

Donna Elisa, who had so much to do in her own 
shop that she could not come herself, sent old Pacifica 
in to him continually and asked what he thought of 
the ringing. And the rector came also into the shop 
for a moment and said, like all the rest : “ Have you 
ever heard such frightful ringing, Don Ferrante?” 

And Don Ferrante wondered if the advocate and 
Don Matteo and all the others came only to reproach 
him because he wanted to send away Cavaliere 
Palmeri. 

The blood commenced to throb at his temples. 
At times the room seemed to turn round and round. 
And continually someone came in and asked : 
“ Have you ever heard such a terrible ringing?” 

But the one who did not come and ask at all was 
Donna Micaela. She could not come, as she felt no 
fear. That the passion which was to fill her life had 
now come, filled her with rapture and pride. “ My 
life will be full and rich,” she said. And it terrified 
her that hitherto she had been only a child. 

She was to depart with the mail-stage, which 
passed Diamante at ten in the evening. When it 
got to be about four o’clock she thought it was best 
to tell her father everything and begin to pack his 
things. 

But this did not seem to her difficult either. Her 
father would soon follow them to Argentine. She 
would beg him to be patient a few months, till they 
had a home to offer him. And she was sure that 


THE BELLS OF SAN PASQUALE 113 

he would be pleased that she went away from Don 
Ferrante. 

She experienced a delicious stupor. Nothing 
seemed dreadful to her any more. There was no 
shame, no danger, none whatever. 

She only longed to hear the mail-coach come 
rumbling along, 

Then she heard the sound of many voices on the 
steps leading to the upper story. She heard the 
heavy tramp of numerous feet. She saw people 
passing through the open colonnade, which ran 
around the yard and which one must pass through * 
to enter the rooms. She saw that they carried 
something heavy between them, but she could not 
see what it was, because there were so many people. 

The pale advocate went before the others. He 
came and told her that Don Ferrante had wanted 
to drive Torino out of the shop, but Torino had 
then stabbed him with his knife. It was nothing 
dangerous. He was already bandaged and would be 
well in two weeks. 

Don Ferrante was now carried in, and his eyes 
strayed about the room, not to seek Donna Micaela, 
but Cavaliere Palmeri. When he saw him, he only 
motioned to his wife, and although he uttered no 
word, she understood that her father need never 
leave his house, never, never. 

She pressed her hands to her eyes. What, her 
father need not go away ! She was saved ! A mir- 
acle had happened for her sake ! 

Ah, now she must be happy, be satisfied ! But 
she was neither. She felt the most terrible pain. 

She could not go away. Her father would be al- 


H4 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


lowed to remain, and she must be faithful to Don 
Ferrante. She struggled hard to grasp it, but it 
was true. She could not go. 

She tried to look at it in another light. Perhaps 
it was a false conclusion. She had become so be- 
wildered. No, no, it was so, she could not. 

O, how faint and languid she was! Yet had she 
not been traveling, and traveling all the livelong day ? 
She have been so long on the road. And she would 
never reach the end of her journey. She fell into a 
sort of stupor. 

There was nothing else to do than to rest after 
the endless journey she had performed. But how 
should she ever be able to find rest ? She began to 
weep at the thought of never reaching the end. 
Her whole life would be one long, endless journey. 


TWO CANZONETS 


115 


VIII 

TWO CANZONETS 

It was the morning after the day when San Pas- 
quale's bells had rung, and Donna Elisa sat in her 
shop counting money. The day before, when all the 
people were afraid, there had been a brisk sale, and 
in the morning when she entered the shop, she had 
at first almost felt frightened. For the whole shop 
was desolate and empty, the medallions were gone, 
the wax candles were gone and so were the large 
clusters of rosaries. All Gaetano's handsome images 
of saints had been taken down from the shelves and 
sold, and it was a real grief to Donna Elisa not to 
see this gathering of saintly men and women around 
her. 

She pulled out the money drawer and it was so 
full that it was difficult to open. And while she 
counted her money, she cried over it as though it 
had been false. For of what use to her were all 
these dirty lire bills and these large coppers now 
that she had lost Gaetano ! 

Ah, if he had only remained at home one day 
more, then he had not needed to go, because now 
she was amply provided with money. 

While she sat thus, she heard the mail-coach stop 
outside her door. But she did not look up even. 
She did not care about what happened, since Gaetano 


II 6 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

was away. Just then the door opened, and the bell 
rang frightfully. She only wept and counted. 
Then some one said : “ Donna Elisa, Donna Elisa ! ” 
And it was Gaetano. 

“ O God, why have you come home ? ” she cried. — 
“ Why, you’ve sold all your images so I was obliged to 
come home to carve new ones for you.” — “ But how 
did you find it out ? ” — “ I went down to the mail- 
coach at two o’clock last night. I met Rosa Alfari, 
and she told me everything.” — “ How fortunate that 
it occurred to you to go down to the mail-coach ! ” — 
“ Yes, it certainly was ! ” said Gaetano. 

And in less than an hour Gaetano was again busy 
in his workshop, and Donna Elisa, who had nothing 
to do in her empty shop, kept coming to the door 
continually to look at him. Well, well, to think 
that he actually stood there again carving ! She 
could not let five minutes pass without coming to 
look at him. 

But when Donna Micaela heard that he had re- 
turned, she felt no joy, but rather anger and despair. 
For she feared that Gaetano would come and tempt 
her. 

She had heard that a rich English lady had come 
to Diamante the day the bells rang. It affected her 
deeply, when she heard that it was the lady with 
the image of Christ who had come. It had then 
come as soon as she had invoked its aid. The rain 
and the ringing were its doings. 

She now endeavored to rejoice at the thought, 
that a miracle had happened for her sake. To feel 
herself encompassed by God’s grace was more to 
her than all earthly happiness. She prayed that 


TWO CANZONETS It 7 

nothing earthly might come and snatch away from 
her this blessed rapture. 

But when she met Gaetano on the street, he 
hardly noticed her, and when she met him at Donna 
Elisa’s, he did not take her hand or speak to her. 

For the truth was, that although Gaetano had 
come back, because it had been too grievous for him 
to go without Donna Micaela, he did not wish to 
tempt and entice her. He saw that she was under 
the saints’ protection, and that she had become to 
him so sacred that he hardly dared to dream of 
her. 

He wished to be near her, not for the sake of lov- 
ing her, but because he believed that her life would 
bloom with holy deeds. Gaetano longed for miracles 
just as a gardener longs for the first rose of spring. 

But as the weeks passed, and Gaetano never sought 
to approach Donna Micaela, she began to doubt and 
think that he never had loved her. She said to 
herself, that he had drawn from her the promise to 
flee with him only to show her that the Madonna 
could perform a miracle. 

But if that had been the case, she did not know 
why he had not continued his journey, but returned. 

This caused her anxiety. It seemed to her she 
could not control her love with less than to know 
if Gaetano loved her. She weighed for and against, 
and she felt more and more certain that he had 
never loved her. 

While Donna Micaela pondered upon this, she 
was obliged to sit and keep Don Ferrante company. 
He had been sick a long time. He had had several 
attacks of apoplexy, and had risen from his bed a 


1 1 8 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

broken-down man. He had become old, weak of 
intellect and timid, so that he never dared to be 
alone. He never worked in the shop, he was like a 
different person entirely. 

He had been seized by a great desire to be grand 
and distinguished. Donna Micaela was very kind 
towards him and sat prattling with him for hours 
together. 

“ Who could it be,” she would ask, “ who once 
stood on the market-place with plumes in his hat, 
and braid on his jacket, and sword at his side, and 
who played so beautifully that it was said his music 
was uplifting as Etna and mighty as the sea ? And 
who was it that caught sight of a poor signorina 
in mourning, who dared not show her face, and came 
forward to her and offered her his arm ? Who could 
that be? Could it be Don Ferrante, who stands in 
his haberdasher’s shop all the week wearing bag-cap 
and short jacket? No, that can’t be possible. An 
old merchant could not do anything like that ! ” 

Don Ferrante laughed. That was just the way he 
liked to have her talk to him. She must also tell 
him how it would be when he came to court, what 
the king would say and what the queen would say. 
“ So the ancient Alagona have come to life again.” 
they would say at court. And who is the reviver 
of the race ? They will wonder and wonder. The 
Don Ferrante, who is a Sicilian prince and Spanish 
grandee, is he one and the same man who stood in 
the haberdasher’s shop in Diamante, shouting at the 
wagoners ? No, they will say, it cannot be the same ! 
It cannot possibly be the same ! 

Don Ferrante liked this, and he could listen to her 


TWO CANZONETS 1 19 

day in and day out. He never wearied, and Donna 
Micaela was very patient with him. 

But one day in the midst of her babbling, in came 
Donna Elisa. “ Sister-in-law, have you the legend of 
the Holy Virgin of Pompeii, if so, kindly lend it me,” 
she asked. — “What, are you going to begin to 
read ? ” asked Donna Micaela. — “ Bless me, you 
know very well that I can’t read. It is Gaetano 
who asks for it.” 

Donna Micaela did not have the legend of the 
Holy Virgin of Pompeii. Yet she did not say so to 
Donna Elisa, but went to her bookcase and took 
down a small book, containing a collection of Sicilian 
love songs and gave it to Donna Elisa, who carried 
the little book to Gaetano. But hardly had Donna 
Micaela done this, than she regretted it deeply. 
And she asked herself what she meant by acting 
thus, she whom the Christ-child had helped. 

She blushed with shame when she thought of 
how she had marked one of the canzonets, which 
ran thus: — 

To one question, answer give, I pray. 

I have asked the night, I’ve asked the day, 

Flight of birds and clouds that sped, 

Into boiling water I’ve poured lead, 

From the flow’ret blade by blade I tore, 

Lured the swarthy seeress to my door. 

Heaven’s holy saints I asked at last : 

“ Does he love me now as in the past ? ” 


She had hoped somewhat that she should receive an 
answer to this. But it served her right that no 
answer came. It served her right, if Gaetano despised 
her and called her importunate. 


120 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


Still she had not wished to do anything wicked. 
All she had desired had been to learn if Gaetano loved 
her. 

Again a few weeks passed, and Donna Micaela sat 
constantly with Don Ferrante. 

But one day Donna Elisa had persuaded her to go 
out. “ Come down into my garden, sister-in-law, and 
look at my big magnolia tree. You’ve never seen 
anything so beautiful.” 

She had followed Donna Elisa across the street 
and entered her garden. And Donna Elisa’s magnolia 
was like the radiant sun, so that one became aware 
of it even before one saw it. The air was filled with 
its fragrance and there was such a humming of bees 
and twittering of birds ! 

When Donna Micaela saw the tree, she could 
hardly breathe. It was very tall and large, with a 
graceful regular growth, and its large, firm leaves 
were of a fresh dark-green shade. Now it was com- 
pletely covered with large white flowers which so 
illumined and adorned it that one fancied it arrayed 
for a feast, and one felt how an intoxicating joy ex- 
haled from the tree. And Donna Micaela felt a 
strange, irresistible power gaining control over her. 
She drew down one of the stiff twigs, spread out the 
flower, which it bore without breaking it, took a pin 
and began to prick letters in the petals. — “ What 
are you doing, sister-in-law ? ” asked Donna Elisa. — 
“ O, nothing, nothing.” — “ In my time the young 
girls used to prick love-letters in the magnolia blos- 
soms.” — “ Perhaps they do so still.” — “ Take care, I 
shall look and see what you have written, when you 
are gone.” — “ But you can’t read,” — “ I have Gae- 


TWO CANZONETS 


1 2 1 


tano” — “ And Luca. It is certainly better that you 
ask Luca/’ 

When Donna Micaela came home, she repented. 
Would Donna Elisa show the flower to Gaetano ? 
No, surely not, Donna Elisa was too wise. But what 
if he himself had seen her from his workshop win- 
dow? Well, he would not say anything. But it 
was she who was making herself ridiculous. 

She would never do anything like that again, 
never, never ! Was it not best for her not to know 
anything ? It was best for her that Gaetano did not 
care about her. 

Nevertheless, she wondered what answer she should 
get. But none came. 

And so another week passed. One day Don Fer- 
rante took it into his head to go out riding in the 
afternoon. In the carriage-shed of the summer palace 
stood an old-fashioned gala-coach, which certainly 
was a hundred years old or more. It was very high, 
it had a small, narrow basket swinging on leather 
straps between the back wheels, which were as 
large as the water-wheel of a mill. It was painted 
white, with gilding ; it was covered with red velvet 
and had a coat-of-arms on the door. 

Once it had been a great honor to ride in that 
carriage, and when the ancient Alagonas came rid- 
ing along the Corso, the people had risen from their 
thresholds and crowded about the doors and leaned 
out over the balconies to see it. Then it had been 
drawn by graceful horses from Berberry, the 
coachman had worn a wig, and the footman gal- 
loons, and it had been driven with silk-embroidered 
reins. 


122 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


But now Don Ferrante wanted to harness his old 
horses to the gala-coach and let his old shop-hand 
act as coachman. When Donna Micaela told him 
that this would not do, Don Ferrante commenced 
to weep. What would people think of him if he 
did not show himself on the Corso in his carriage in 
the afternoon. That surely was the last thing a gen- 
tleman denied himself. How should any one know 
that he was a nobleman if he did not ride up and 
down the street in the ancient Alagona carriage. 

Don Ferrante’s happiest moment since his illness 
was when he rode out for the first time. He sat 
erect, nodding and waving his hand very conscien- 
tiously to all he met. And the people of Diamante 
bowed and took off the hat, so that it swept the 
ground. Why not give Don Ferrante that pleasure ? 

Donna Micaela accompanied him, for Don Fer- 
rante dared not ride alone. She had felt reluctant 
about going with him, but Don Ferrante had wept 
and reminded her that he married her when she was 
despised and poor. She ought not to be ungrateful, 
she ought not to forget what he had done for her, 
but go with him. Why didn’t she wish to ride in his 
carriage ? It was the finest carriage in Sicily. 

“ Why don’t you want to ride with me ? ” said Don 
Ferrante. “ Remember I’m the only one that loves 
you. Don’t you see that not even your father loves 
you? You must not be ungrateful.” 

In this way he had compelled Donna Micaela to 
take a seat in the gala-coach. 

But what she had expected did not happen. No 
one laughed. The women courtesied, and the men 
bowed as solemnly as though the coach had been a 


TWO CANZONETS 123 

hundred years younger. And Donna Micaela could 
not detect a smile on a single face. 

Nor could there be found in all Diamante any one 
who had wished to laugh. For all knew well enough 
how Donna Micaela had to bear with Don Ferrante. 
They knew how he loved her and how he wept when 
she left him for a single moment. They also knew 
how he tortured her with jealousy and how he tore 
her hats to pieces if they were becoming to her, 
and never gave her money for new gowns, in order 
that no one else might think her beautiful and love 
her. In the meantime he was always telling her 
that she was so homely that no one but himself 
could bear to see her face. 

And because they knew all this in Diamante, there 
was no one that laughed. What, laugh at her, who 
sat prattling with a sick man ! The people of Dia- 
mante are pious Christians, not barbarians. 

So the gala-coach in all its faded pomp, rolled up 
and down the Corso of Diamante during the hour 
between five and six. And in Diamante it drove all 
alone, because there were no grand carriages except 
that. Still all knew that at the same hour all the 
equipages in Rome drove to Monte Pincio, and all 
in Naples to Villa Nazionale, and all in Florence to 
the Cascina, and all in Palermo to La Favorita. 

But when the carriage made the trip down to- 
wards Porta Etnea for the third time, the merry blast 
of a horn was heard from the road outside. 

And in through the gate dashed a high English 
dog-cart. 

That, too, no doubt, was meant to be old-fashioned. 
The postilion, who rode on the right-hand leader, 


124 THE miracles of antichrist 

wore leather breeches and wig. The vehicle was 
like an old diligence with a coup£ behind the coach- 
box, a high narrow hood and seats on the roof. 

But everything was new, the horses were fine, 
strong animals, carriage and harness gleamed, and the 
occupants were several young ladies and gentlemen 
making a tour up to Etna. And naturally they 
could not help laughing when they drove by the old 
gala-coach. They leaned forward where they sat on 
the high carriage-roof, to look at it, and their loud 
and ringing laughter echoed between the tall, quiet 
houses of Diamante. 

Donna Micaela felt very unhappy. They who 
drove by were some of her old friends. What 
would they say when they came home ? “ We 

have seen Micaela Palmeri in Diamante.” And 
they would laugh and relate, laugh and relate. 

Her whole life seemed utterly wretched. She was 
nothing but a slave of a fool. During her whole life 
she would have nothing else to do but to prattle with 
Don Ferrante. 

When she came home she was completely ex- 
hausted. She was so faint and weary that she could 
hardly drag herself up the stairs. 

And the whole time Don Ferrante was congratulat- 
ing himself, that these grand people had met him 
and seen his splendor. He told her that now no one 
would mind her being homely, nor that her father 
had stolen. Now they knew that she was the wife 
of a grand gentleman. 

After dinner Donna Micaela sat perfectly silent 
and let her father talk with Don Ferrante. 

Just then a mandolin began to hum softly under 


TWO CANZONETS 


125 


the window of the summer palace. It was a solitary 
mandolin without accompaniment of guitar or violin. 
Nothing could be more frail and airy, nothing more 
charming and touching ! It could hardly be believed 
that human hands touched the strings. It was as if 
bees and crickets and grasshoppers were holding 
a concert. 

“ Still another who has fallen in love with Gian- 
nita,” said DonFerrante. “ What a woman is Gian- 
nita. Every one can see that she is beautiful. Were 
I young, I should fall in love with Giannita. She 
knows how to love.” 

Donna Micaela started. No doubt he was right, 
she thought. The mandolin player meant Giannita. 
To-night Giannita was with her mother, but she now 
lived in the summer palace. Donna Micaela had 
brought this about, after Don Ferrante had become 
infirm. 

But Donna Micaela liked the music, whoever it 
was for. It was sweet and gentle and soothing. 
She went softly into her little cabinet that she 
might listen better in the darkness and solitude. 

In there a sweet, strong odor filled the room. 
What was this? Her hands commenced to tremble, 
before she found a candle and a match. On her 
work-table lay a large full blown magnolia-flower. 

On one of the petals was pricked : “ Who loves 
me? ” And now below it said : “ Gaetano.” 

Beside the flower lay a little white book full of 
love-songs. And there was a mark by one of the 
canzonets : 

No one of my love hath ever known, 

In secret and in silence it hath grown. 


126 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


And like a miser I have watched my treasure, 

Of that to dream hath been my only pleasure. 

When once the shriver by my bed shall stand, 

And all the secrets of the soul demand, 

The door I’ll close and throw away the key, 

Hide my heart’s riches in Eternity ! 

The mandolin continued to play. There is some- 
thing of fresh air and sunshine in the mandolin. 
Something of nature’s lightheartedness. 


THE FLIGHT 


127 


IX 

THE FLIGHT 

At this time the little image from Aracoeli was 
still in Diamante. 

The English lady who owned it had become 
charmed with Diamante, and could not tear herself 
away. 

She had rented the first-floor story in the hotel and 
had arranged herself there as in a home. She bought 
for large sums of money everything she came across 
of old earthenware and old coins. She bought 
mosaics and altar-pieces, and holy images. She be- 
came possessed of the idea that she must get to- 
gether a collection of all the saints of the Church. 

So she heard of Gaetano, and sent for him to come 
up to her at the hotel. 

Gaetano gathered together what he had carved dur- 
ing the last days, and took it with him to Miss Tot- 
tenham. She was very much pleased with his little 
images and wished to buy them all. 

But the rich English lady’s rooms were like the 
lumber rooms at a museum. There were all sorts 
of things, and all was disorder and confusion. There 
stood trunks, half emptied, there hung cloaks and 
hats, there lay paintings and engravings, there were 
hand-books on traveling, tea services and alcohol- 
lamps, there were halberds, missals, mandolins and 
escutcheons ! 


128 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

And all this opened Gaetano’s eyes. He blushed 
suddenly, bit his lip and began packing together his 
images. 

He had caught sight of an image of the Christ- 
child. It was the ejected image standing there in 
the midst of all this confusion, with its poor crown 
on its head and brass-shoes on his feet. The paint 
was scraped off the face, the rings and ornaments were 
tarnished, and the swaddle was yellow with age. 

When Gaetano saw this, he did not wish to sell 
his imagesto Miss Tottenham, but was just about to 
go away. When she asked what the matter was with 
him, his anger broke loose and he began to chide 
her. 

Did she know that many of the things she had 
around her were holy ? 

Did she know or didn’t she know, that this was the 
holy Christ-child ? And she had let it lose three fin- 
gers on one hand and let the gems fall out of the 
crown, and had let it lie there, soiled and tarnished 
and dishonored. And if she treated the image of 
God’s own Son like that, how would she treat 
others ? He would not sell her anything. 

When Gaetano railed against her in this way, Miss 
Tottenham was delighted, delighted. 

Here was the true faith, and the right and holy 
wrath. And this young man must become an artist. 

To England, to England he must go ! She would 
send him to the great master, her friend, who was 
trying to reform art, to him, who wished to teach 
the people how to make beautiful household fur- 
nishings, beautiful church interiors, who wished to 
make a new world. 


THE FLIGHT 


129 


She decided and planned, and Gaetano acqu esced, 
because he was now glad to get away from Dia- 
mante. 

He saw that he could no longer endure living there. 
He believed that it was God who led him away from 
temptation. 

He went away unnoticed. Donna Micaela scarce- 
ly knew of it before he was gone. He had not 
dared to come and bid her farewell. 

9 


130 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


X 

SIROCCO 

After that two peaceful years passed. The only 
thing that happened in Diamante and in all Sicily, 
was that the people became poorer and poorer. 

It was in autumn, about the time of vintage. 

And at that time the canzonets leap perfect to the 
lips ; at that time new and exquisite melodies flow 
from the mandolins. 

Then flocks of youth set out for the vineyards, and 
the whole day there is work and laughter, dance and 
laughter the whole night, and no one thinks of sleep. 

Then the bright sea of air over the mountain is 
more beautiful than ever. Then the air sparkles 
with sallies of wit, and glittering glances pass 
through it, like flashes of lightning, then it gathers 
light and warmth not from the sun alone, but also 
from the radiant faces of the young Etna-women. 

This autumn, however, all vineyards were devas- 
tated by phylloxera. No grape-pickers pressed for- 
ward between the vines, no long lines of women 
wound their way to the presses, and at night there 
was no dancing on the flat roofs. 

And this autumn the clear, light, October air hov- 
ered no more over the Etna regions. But as though 
it were in league with need, came the heavy, paralyz- 
ing desert wind from Africa, bringing with it dust 
and vapor which darkened the whole sky. 


SIROCCO 


131 

As long as this autumn lasted one never felt a fresh 
mountain breeze. The disastrous Sirocco blew con- 
tinually. 

At times it came dry and filled with sand, and so 
burning hot that it was necessary to close doors and 
windows and remain in one’s rooms in order not to 
perish. 

But oftenest it came warm and damp and oppres- 
sive. And the people never found any peace. Grief 
never left them, and troubles heaped themselves 
upon them as snow-drifts on the high mountains. 

And anxiety came to Donna Micaela also, where 
she constantly sat watching beside her aged husband, 
Don Ferrante. 

During that autumn she never heard laughter, never 
a song. The people stole past each other, so full of 
anger and despair that they seemed nigh stifling. 
And she said to herself, that in all probability they 
were dreaming of an insurrection. She understood 
that they must rebel. It certainly would not help 
any one, but they had no other means to resort to. 

At the beginning of the autumn she had sat on her 
balcony and listened to the people talking on the 
street. They talked of nothing but the distress that 
prevailed. We have had a bad year for wheat and 
wine, there’s a crisis in sulphur and oranges, all 
Sicily's yellow gold has failed. What, then, shall 
one live of? 

And Donna Micaela knew that this was dreadful. 
Wheat, wine, oranges and sulphur, all their yellow 
gold. 

She also began to comprehend that the misery was 
so great that the people could not continue to bear 


132 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

it, and she complained that life should be made so 
hard. She asked why the people should be compelled 
to pay such heavy taxes. Why should there be a salt 
tax so that a poor woman was not allowed to go down 
to the shore and get a pail full of salt water, but had to 
buy dear salt at the government stores ? And why 
should there be a tax on the palm-trees ? With anger 
in his heart the peasant now felled the old trees, 
which long had waved over the beautiful isle. And 
why should a tax be levied on windows ? What was 
the meaning of that ? That poor people should take 
away their windows, move out of their rooms and live 
in the cellars? 

In the sulphur mines there were strikes and riots, 
and the government sent troops to force the people 
back to work. Donna Micaela wondered if the gov- 
ernment did not know that there were no machines 
in those mines. It then had never heard that chil- 
dren dragged the ore from the deep pits. It did not 
know that these children were slaves, it could not 
imagine that their parents had sold them to the em- 
ployers. Or if the government knew it, why did it 
wish to help the mine owners ? 

All at once she heard about a great number of crimes. 
And again she began with her questions. Why were 
the people allowed to become so malignant ? Why 
were they allowed to be so poor and ragged ? Why 
should they all be so ragged? She knew that he 
who lived in Palermo or Catania, need not ask thus. 
But he who lived in Diamante could not but fear and 
ask. Why did the people become so poor that they 
died of hunger? 

The summer was hardly at an end, it was only to- 


SIROCCO 


133 


wards the last of October, and already Donna Micaela 
began to picture to herself the day when the insurrec- 
tion would break out. She saw the famished people 
come rushing along the street. They would plunder 
the stores, and they would plunder the houses of the 
few rich people in the city. Outside the summer 
palace the wild throng would stop and climb up to 
the balconies and casement windows. “ Out with the 
old Alagona jewels, out with Don Ferrante's mil- 
lions ! ” The summer palace was their dream ! They 
believed it was as full of gold as a fairy palace. 

But when they found nothing, they would put the 
dagger to her throat, that she might deliver to them 
treasures she had never possessed, and she would be 
murdered by the ravenous masses. 

Why couldn’t the great landholders remain at 
home ? Why should they exasperate the poor by 
living in grand style in Rome and Paris ? One would 
not feel so bitter towards them if they stayed at 
home ; one would not swear so solemnly to kill all 
the rich when the time came. 

Donna Micaela only wished she could have fled to 
one of these great cities. But both her father and 
Don Ferrante fell ill that autumn, and for their sakes 
she was obliged to remain where she was. And she 
knew that she should be killed as a peace-offering 
for the transgressions of the rich against the poor. 

For many years misfortunes had gathered over 
Sicily, and now they could no longer be kept back. 
Now Etna itself began to threaten with an eruption. 

At night the smoke was fiery red, and the rumbling 
was heard all the way to Diamante. All would come 
to an end. All would be destroyed. 


134 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


Did n’t the government know of the ill feeling ? 
Ah, the government had finally learned of it and had 
appointed a committee. It was a great comfort to 
see the delegates come riding one day along the 
Corso in Diamante. If only the people had under- 
stood that they meant well by them. But the women 
had stood in their doorways, spitting at the fine gen- 
tlemen from the mainland, and the children had ran 
after the carriage shouting : “ Thief, thief ! ” 

Everything one did only stimulated the insurrec- 
tion. And there was no one who could take charge 
of the people and pacify them. The government of- 
ficials were not to be trusted. Those who only took 
bribes, were least despised. It was said, however, 
that several were members of Mafian, and that all 
they thought of was to rifle money and gain power. 

As the time passed, signs signifying that something 
terrible was approaching grew more numerous. In 
the papers one read that throngs of laborers gathered 
in the large cities and marched through the streets. 
One also read in the papers of how the socialist 
leaders traveled through the country, making excit- 
ing speeches. And at once it became clear to Donna 
Micaela where all the trouble came from. It was the 
socialists that goaded the insurrection onward. It 
was their speeches that set the minds fermenting. 
How could they be allowed to do this? Who then 
was king of Sicily? Was his name Don Felice or 
Umberto ? 

Donna Micaela felt a horror which never left her. 
It was as if one had conspired against her. And the 
more she heard about the socialists, the more she 
feared them. 


SIROCCO 


135 


Giannita tried to calm her. “ We have no social- 
ists in Diamante,” she said. “No one thinks of rebel- 
ling in Diamante.” But Donna Micaela asked her 
if she did not know what it signified, that the old 
spinstresses sat in their dark corners telling of the 
great hero robbers, and of the famous Palermo fisher- 
man, Guiseppi Alesi, whom they called the Masaniello 
of Sicily? 

If only the socialists could get the insurrection 
started, Diamante would join also. All Diamante 
knew that something dreadful was pending. One 
had seen the great black monk haunting Palazzo 
Geraci. Owls screeched all night long, and some de- 
clared that the cocks crowed at sunset and were 
silent at daybreak. 

One day in November Diamante was suddenly 
filled with terrible people : men with beast-like faces 
and bristly beards and with large hands on tremen- 
dously long arms. Some of them wore wide, flutter- 
ing linen clothes, and one seemed to recognize in 
them famous brigands, and lately-released galley- 
slaves. 

Giannita related that all these wild people haunted 
the inland mountains, and had crossed Simeto and 
come to Diamante, because of a rumor that the insur- 
rection had already broken out. But when all had 
been quiet and the carabineer barracks full of people, 
they had departed. 

Donna Micaela was thinking of these people con- 
stantly, and expecting that they would be her mur- 
derers. She seemed to see their fluttering linen 
clothes and beastly faces. She knew they were lurk- 
ing in their caves, waiting for the day when they 


136 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


should hear shots and signs of alarm from Diamante. 
Then they would rush upon the city with fire and 
sword, and march at the head of all these starving 
people as the generals and leaders of the pillage. 

That whole autumn Donna Micaela had to nurse 
both her father and Don Ferrante, who lay ill month 
after month. She had been told, however, that their 
lives were nowise in danger. 

She was very glad as long as Don Ferrante was 
spared, for it was her only hope that the people 
would have regard for him, who was of an old and 
respected family. 

Sitting there at the bedside she often longed for 
Gaetano, and many a time she wished he were home. 
She would feel no anguish or fear of death, were he 
again in his workshop. Then she could not have 
felt anything but safety and peace. 

Even now, when he was far away, her thoughts went 
in search of him when fright almost drove her mad. 
She had not, however, received a single letter from 
him, while he had been away, so that at times she 
believed that he had entirely forgotten her. At 
other times she was certain that he loved her, be- 
cause she felt so compelled to think of him that she 
knew that in spirit he was near her and called her. 

This autumn she finally received a letter from 
Gaetano. Ah, what a letter ! Donna Micaela’s first 
thought was to burn it. 

She had gone up on the terrace in order to be alone 
when she read it. Up there she had once h*,ard 
Gaetano’s declaration of love, and that had not 
affected her at all. That had neither warmed her 
nor frightened her. 


SIROCCO 


37 


But this letter was different. He begged her to 
come to him, to be his, give herself to him. As she 
read it she was shocked at herself. She felt a desire 
to shout into the air: “ I am coming, I am coming,” 
and so just start off. It drew her and carried her 
away. 

“ Let us be happy ! ” he wrote. “ We are wasting 
time, the years pass. Let us be happy ! ” 

He described for her how they would live. He 
related accounts of other women, who had obeyed 
love and become happy. He wrote both enticingly 
and convincingly. 

But it was not exactly the contents, it was the love, 
breathing and glowing in the letter, that filled her 
with rapture. It rose from the paper like an intoxi- 
cating incense, and she felt how it thrilled her. 
Every word spoke of intense longing. 

Now she was no longer a saint to him as before. 
It came overwhelmingly sudden, this, after a silence 
of several years. And that it so delighted her made 
her anxious. 

She had never imagined love to be like that. 
Would she also like it so ? She found with anguish 
that she would. 

And so she punished both herself and him by writ- 
ing a stern answer. It was morals, morals, it was 
nothing but morals. She was proud when she had 
written it. She did not deny that she loved him, but 
perhaps Gaetano would not be able to find the love 
words, they were so embedded in admonition. Nor 
must he have found them. He wrote no more 
letters. 

But Donna Micaela could now no longer think of 


138 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

Gaetano as a protection and support. He was now 
more dangerous than the men from the inland. 

And with each day came sadder tidings to Dia- 
mante. Now all commenced to procure weapons. 
And although it was forbidden to own them, they 
were nevertheless carried secretly by everybody. 

All tourists departed from the island, and, instead, 
troops by the thousand were sent there from Italy. 

The socialists talked and talked. They were in- 
deed possessed with an evil spirit, and were not con- 
tented unless they called forth adversity ! 

Finally the insurrectionists had set the day when 
the storm should break loose. All Sicily, all Italy 
would rise. It was no longer threats only, it was 
reality. 

More and more troops came from the mainland, 
and the greater part of them were Neapolitans, who 
live in constant warfare with the Sicilians. And now 
came tidings that the island had been put outside 
the law. There would be no courts of justice any 
more, only court-martials. And the people said that 
the soldiers would have liberty to plunder and mur- 
der as much as they liked. 

No one knew what was going to happen. Terror 
seemed to make all mad. In Diamante the men 
stood in groups at the market-place, they stood there 
day after day, without going to work. It was de- 
pressing to see these groups of men, standing there 
in their dark mantles and slouch-hats. No doubt 
they stood there dreaming of the moment when 
they should be permitted to plunder the summer 
palace. 

As the day drew near on which the insurrection 


SIROCCO 139 

would break out, Don Ferrante became worse. 
And Donna Micaela feared that he would die. 

It seemed to her a sign that her destruction was 
predetermined, that she should lose Don Ferrante 
too. Who would have any regard for her when he 
was dead ? 

She watched over him. She and all the women 
of the neighborhood sat around the bed in silent 
prayer. 

But one morning, towards six o’clock, Don Fer- 
rante died. And Donna Micaela mourned for him 
because he had been her only protector, and the 
only one who could have saved her from ruin, and 
she wished to honor death according to the custom 
still in vogue in Diamante. 

She covered the walls of the death-chamber with 
black cloth, closed all the shutters to prevent the 
glad sunlight from entering the rooms. 

All fire on the hearth was extinguished, and she 
sent word to a blind singer to come to the palace 
daily, and sing dirges. 

She left Giannita to take care of Cavaliere Pal- 
meri, that she herself might sit in the death-chamber 
among the women who had hastened thither. 

It was towards evening of the day of death, when 
all preparations were ended, and one only waited for 
the white brotherhood to come and take away the 
body. In the room where the dead body lay it was 
deathly still. All the women of the quarter sat there 
motionless, with tear-stained faces. 

Donna Micaela, in her great anguish, sat staring 
involuntarily at the pall spread out over the body. 
It was a pall belonging to the family ; the family 


140 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

arms, of enormous size, were gaudily embroidered in 
the middle, and it had silver fringes and heavy tas- 
sels. This pall had never been spread over any 
other than an Alagona. It seemed to lie there in 
order that Donna Micaela might not for a moment 
forget that her last support had fallen, and that now 
she was alone and without protection among the 
raging people. 

Some one now entered and announced that the 
old Assunta had come. What could old Assunta 
want ? Oh, yes ! she was eulogist ; it was customary 
to have her speak of the dead. 

Donna Micaela permitted Assunta to enter the 
room. She came just as she was every day, as she 
sat begging on the cathedral steps, the same patched 
dress and the same faded head-cloth, and the same 
cane. 

Small, and with bent back, she limped over to the 
coffin. She had a shriveled face and failing eyes. 
Donna Micaela said to herself that it was helpless- 
ness and impotency that had entered the room. 

Old Assunta lifted her voice and began speaking 
in the name of the wife. 

“ My husband is dead, and I am alone. He that 
raised me to his rank is dead. How extraordinary, 
is it not, that my home has lost its master? Why 
are your shutters closed ? the passers-by ask. — I an- 
swer: I cannot bear to see the light, because my 
sorrow is great, my sorrow is threefold. — What, are 
there so many of your family borne away by the 
white ones? — No, no one of my family is dead, 
but I have lost my husband, my husband, my 
husband ! ” 


SIROCCO 


141 


It was not necessary for the aged Assunta to say 
any more. Donna Micaela broke out into sobs, and 
all the women joined in filling the room with lamen- 
tations. For no grief is like that of losing one’s 
husband. The widows remembered what they had 
lost, and they who still had husbands thought of the 
time when they should no longer stir on the street 
because no man accompanied them, when they would 
be left to loneliness, poverty and oblivion, when 
they would be of no importance, when they would be 
of the world’s outcasts, because they had no longer 
a husband, because nothing gave them a right to live 
any more. 

It was towards the end of December, during the 
days between Christmas and New Year. 

There was still the same fear of an insurrection, 
and one still heard the same alarming reports. It 
was told that Falco Falcone had collected a band of 
robbers in the quarry, and that he was only waiting 
for the day fixed upon for the insurrection to fall 
upon Diamante and plunder it. 

It was also told that in several of the small moun- 
tain hamlets the people had rebelled, torn down the 
custom stations at the city gates, and driven the 
officers away. The troops, it was said, marched from 
city to city, arresting doubtful persons and shooting 
them down by the hundred. 

Everybody said that one must fight. One could 
not allow one’s self to be murdered by those Italians 
without making resistance. 

Meanwhile Donna Micaela sat, chained to her 
father’s bedside, just as she had sat by Don Fer- 


142 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


rante’s before. She could not flee from Diamante, 
and her anguish increased so that she was nothing 
but trembling fear. 

The last and hardest of all sad tidings that had 
reached her had been about Gaetano. 

For when Don Ferrante had been dead only a week 
Gaetano had come home. And this had by no means 
dismayed her, but made her happy. She had re- 
joiced at having at last some one near who could 
protect her. 

At the same time she decided not to receive Gae- 
tano at all, if he came to see her. She felt that she 
still belonged to the dead one. She would rather 
not see Gaetano until after a year. 

But when Gaetano had been home a week without 
coming to the summer palace she asked Giannita 
about him. “ Where is Gaetano. Perhaps he has 
gone again, as no one speaks of him ? ” 

“ Oh, Micaela,” answered Giannita, “ the less said 
of Gaetano the better for him.” 

She then told Donna Micaela, as though it were a 
great scandal she was telling, that Gaetano had be- 
come a socialist. 

“ He has become totally changed over there in 
England,” she said. “ He no longer worships either 
God or the saints. He does not kiss the rector’s 
hand when he meets him. He tells everybody not 
to pay toll any more at the city-gate. He exhorts 
the peasants not to pay their rents. He has weap- 
ons with him. He has come home for the pur- 
pose of starting the insurrection and helping the 
brigands.” 

It was not necessary to say any more, to fill Donna 


SIROCCO I43 

Micaela with greater anguish than she had ever felt 
before. 

This was what the qualmy days of the autumn 
had foreboded. And to think that it should be just 
he, who shook down the lightning from the clouds. 
Why had she not expected this long ago ! 

This was chastisement and revenge! To think 
that he should be the one to usher in misfortune. 

For the last days she had been calmer. She had 
heard that all the socialists round about the island 
had been imprisoned. And all the small flames of 
rebellion ignited in the mountain hamlets had been 
quelled. It had almost looked as if the insurrection 
would come to naught. 

But now the last Alagona was come, and him the 
people would follow. There would be commotion 
among the dark groups at the market-place. The 
men in the linen-clothes would cross Simeto. Falco 
Falcone’s robber band would climb up out of the 
quarry. 

The next evening Gaetano was at the market- 
place. He had been sitting by the well watching the 
people coming to get water. For two years he had 
had to deny himself the pleasure of seeing the 
slender maidens lift the heavy water-jars on their 
heads and walk away with steady, solemn steps. 

But it was not the young maidens alone, who 
came to the well, but people of all ages. And when 
he saw how poor and wretched most of them were, 
he began to talk to them of the future. He promised 
them that the times would soon be better. He told 
the aged Assunta, that hereafter she should have 


144 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


her daily bread without being obliged to beg for 
it. And when she said that she did not see how that 
could ever be, he asked her, almost in anger, if she 
did not know that the time had now come, when no 
children and none advanced in years should be with- 
out home and protection. 

He pointed to the old chair-maker, who was just 
as poor as Assunta, and, besides, very sick, and he 
asked if she thought that one could endure any 
longer to have neither almshouse nor hospital ? 

He also saw some children, who he knew lived 
mostly on cresses and sorrels, which they gathered 
near the river banks and at the edge of the road, 
and he promised that hereafter no one should need 
to hunger. He placed his hand on the children’s 
heads and declared, as proudly as though he had been 
prince of Diamante, that they should no more lack 
bread. 

He said they knew nothing in Diamante ; they 
were ignorant, they understood not that a new and 
blessed time had come, they believed that this misery 
would go on continually. 

While he thus comforted the poor, more and more 
people had collected around him, and suddenly he 
sprang up and, placing himself on the curb, began to 
speak. 

How could they be so foolish, he said, not to be- 
lieve that better times were coming. Would the 
people, who owned the whole earth, be content 
that the aged were left to starve and the little chil- 
dren were permitted to grow up to be criminals and 
wretches ? 

Didn’t they know that the mountains and seas 


SIROCCO 


H5 


abounded with treasures? Had they never heard 
that the earth was rich ? Did they think that she 
could not feed her children ? 

They should not murmur amongst themselves and 
say that it was impossible to arrange things differ- 
ently. They should not believe that there must be 
rich and poor. Ah, they knew nothing, they knew 
not their mother earth. Did they think she hated 
any one of them ? Had they then laid down on the 
ground and heard the earth speak? Had they seen 
her write laws? Had they heard her pronounce 
sentence? Had she commanded some to starve and 
some to perish from too good living ? 

Why did they not lift up their ears and listen to 
the new doctrines passing through the world ? 
Didn't they wish to be better off? Were they then 
fond of their rags? Were they content with cresses 
and sorrels ? Would they not like to own a roof 
over their heads ? 

And he said that it mattered not at all if they re- 
fused to believe in the new time arising. It would 
come to them nevertheless. It was not necessary 
for them to lift the sun out of the sea in the morning, 
was it ? The new era would come to them as the 
sun came, but why didn’t they wish to be one of the 
party to meet it ? Why did they shut themselves 
up, afraid of the new light ? 

He continued long in this manner, and more and 
more of the poor people in Diamante gathered 
around him. 

But the longer he talked, the clearer became his 
voice. 

There was fire in his clear eyes, and to the people 
10 


146 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


gazing up at him he seemed as beautiful as a young 
prince. 

He was like one of the ancient, potent gentlemen 
of his race who had had power to bestow riches and 
happiness upon all the people in his wide domain. 
They believed him when he said that he could give 
them happiness. They felt comforted and glad that 
their young master loved them. 

When he had finished speaking, they broke out 
into exultation, crying that they would follow him 
and do what he commanded. 

He had gained supremacy over them in a single 
moment. He was so beautiful, so glorious, that 
they were unable to withstand him. And his belief 
was such, that it charmed and subjugated them. 

That night there was not a single poor person in 
Diamante, who did not believe that Gaetano would be- 
stow upon him untroubled happy days. That night 
they read the blessing over him, all who lived in 
sheds and out-houses. That night the hungry went 
to rest firmly believing that the next day tables 
loaded with good things would be spread before them, 
when they awoke. 

For when Gaetano spoke, his power was such that 
he could convince the aged that they were young, and 
the cold that they were warm. And one felt that 
what he promised must come. 

He was monarch of the new era. His hands were 
benevolent, and miracles and blessings would descend 
upon Diamante, now that he had returned. 

The next day, towards sunset, Giannita came into 
the sick-room and whispered to Donna Micaela. 


SIROCCO 


HI 

“ Insurrection has broken out in Paterno ! They have 
been shooting for several hours and it can be heard 
here. Troops have already been sent for to Catania. 
And Gaetano says it will break out here too. He 
says it will break out in all the Etna cities at the 
same time.” 

Donna Micaela made a sign to Giannita to re- 
main with her father, and she went herself across the 
street and into Donna Elisa’s shop. 

Donna Elisa sat behind the counter at her frame,” 
but she did not work. The tears fell fast and heavy, 
so that she was obliged to cease embroidering. 

“ Where is Gaetano ? ” said Donna Micaela wholly 
without circumlocution. “ I must speak with him ! ” 

“ God grant you may have luck in speaking with 
him,” answered Donna Elisa. “ He is in the 
garden.” 

She crossed the courtyard and passed into the 
walled garden. 

In the garden were numerous paths, running nar- 
row and winding from terrace to terrace. There 
were also many arbors and grottos and resting- 
places. And the stiff agaves and dense dwarf palms 
and glossy-leafed rubber plants and rhododendrons 
stood so close that one could not see two steps 
ahead. Donna Micaela wandered long in these 
countless paths, before she could find Gaetano. 
And the longer she walked, the more impatient she 
grew. 

Finally she found him farthest down in the gar- 
den. She saw him on the lowest terrace, built out 
on one of the bastions of the city wall. There sat 
Gaetano quietly, and, with chisel and hammer, working 


148 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

on a statuette. When he caught sight of Donna 
Micaela he hastened towards her with outstretched 
hands. 

She scarcely gave herself time to greet him. “ Is 
it true,” she said, “ that you have come home to ruin 
us ? ” He commenced to laugh. “ The syndic has 
been here,” he said. “ The rector has been here. 
And now do you come too?” 

It wounded her that he laughed and spoke of the 
rector and the syndic. Surely her coming was of 
greater importance. 

“Will you tell me?” she said coldly, “ if it is 
true, that there will be an insurrection here to- 
night?” — “ O, no,” he answered, “there’ll be no in- 
surrection.” And he said this in such a tone that 
she almost pitied him. 

“You cause Donna Elisa much sorrow,” she burst 
out. — “ And you too, perhaps ? ” he said with a slight 
sneer. “ I give you all a great deal of trouble. I am 
the last son. I am Judas. I am the chastening 
angel who drives you out of this paradise where one 
# eats grass.” 

She answered : “ Perhaps we consider that that 
which is, is better than to be shot down by the 
soldiers.” “ Certainly, it is better to starve to death. 
One is used to that.” — “ But it is not at all pleasant to 
be murdered by the bandits.” — “ Then why in the 
world are the bandits allowed to exist, if one does not 
wish to be murdered by them?” — “Well, I know 
very well,” she said, still more vehemently, “that 
you wish that the rich should all be destroyed.” 

He did not answer immediately, but stood bit- 
ing his lip in order not to get excited. “Let me 


SIROCCO 140 

talk with you, Donna Micaela ! ” he said at last. 
“ Let me explain to you ! ” 

At the same moment he put on a patient expres- 
sion. He talked socialism to her, so plain and simple 
that a child ought to have understood. 

Nevertheless she was far from following him. She 
might have been able perhaps, but she did not want 
to. Just then she did not wish to hear of socialism. 

The sight of him had had such a marvelous effect 
upon her. The ground had commenced to tremble 
under her. And something sublime and blissful had 
passed through her and enraptured her. “ O God, 
it is he that I love,” she said to herself. “ It is really 
he.” 

Before she saw him, she had known very well what 
she should say to him. She should have led him 
back to his childhood’s faith. She should have 
shown him that this new doctrine was detestable and 
awful. But then love came. That made her con- 
fused and stupid. She could answer him nothing. 
She only sat and felt astonished that he could talk. 

She wondered if he now was much handsomer 
than formerly. Before she had not become so be- 
wildered at all, when she had seen him. She had 
never felt so completely carried away. Or was it 
this, that now he had become a free, strong man ? She 
became frightened when she felt how he mastered her. 

She dared not contradict him. She did not even 
dare to speak for fear of bursting out into tears. 
Had she dared to speak, she would not have talked 
politics. She would have told him what she had 
experienced the day when the bells rang. Or she 
would have begged to be allowed to kiss his hand. 


150 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

She would have liked to tell him how she had 
dreamed of him. She would have said that had she 
not had him to dream of, life would have been un- 
endurable. She would have begged to be allowed to 
kiss his hand out of gratitude, because he had given 
her life during all these years. 

If there was to be no insurrection why did he talk 
socialism ? What did socialism concern them, who 
sat there alone in Donna Elisa's old garden ? She 
sat gazing along one of the garden paths. Luca had 
put up wooden arches on both sides of it, and up 
these garlands of delicate rose shoots full of buds 
and flowers now twined. One always wondered 
where this little path would lead when one followed it. 
And one arrived at a little weather-beaten Cupid. 
Old Luca had more sense about things than Gaetano. 

While they sat there, the sun went down, and Etna 
became rose-hued. It was as if Etna had blushed 
in indignation at what was passing in Donna Elisa’s 
garden. It was at sunset, when Etna grew brilliantly 
red, that she had been wont to think of Gaetano. 
It was as if they both had expected him. And both 
of them had seen clearly how it would be when 
Gaetano came. She had only feared that he would 
be too passionate and violent. And now he only 
talked of these terrible socialists, whom she detested 
and feared. 

He spoke long. She saw how Etna paled and be- 
became bronze-brown, and then came the darkness. 
She knew it would be moonlight. She sat there 
perfectly still, hoping for help from the moonlight. 
She herself could do nothing. She was completely 
in his power. But when the moonlight came, that 


SIROCCO 1 5 1 

did not help either. He continued to speak of 
capitalists and laborers. 

It then seemed to her, that there could be but one 
explanation to all this. He must have ceased to 
love her. 

Suddenly she remembered something. It was a 
week ago. It was the same day Gaetano had come 
home. She had entered Giannita’s room, but she 
had walked so quietly that Giannita had not heard 
her. 

She had then seen Giannita stand as if in rapture, 
with outstretched arms and uplifted face. And be- 
tween her hands she held a portrait. Now she car- 
ried it to her lips and kissed it, now she raised it 
above her head and gazed at it in ecstasy. And the 
portrait had been Gaetano’s. 

When Donna Micaela had seen this, she had re- 
treated as quietly as she had come and had then 
only thought that Giannita was to be pitied, if she 
loved Gaetano. But now, when Gaetano only talked 
socialism, now she remembered it. 

And now she began to believe that also Gaetano 
loved Giannita. She called to mind that they were 
childhood friends. Perhaps he had loved her long. 
He had perhaps come home to marry her. Donna 
Micaela could not say anything, she had nothing to 
complain of. It was hardly a month since she had 
written to Gaetano that it was wrong of him to love 
her. 

He now leaned towards her, compelled her to look 
at him and listen to what he said. 

“ You must understand, you must see and under- 
stand, Donna Micaela. What we need down here 


152 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


in the south is a regeneracy, a revival, such as Chris- 
tianity was in its time. Up with the slaves, down 
with the masters ! A plow that turns up new social 
layers ! We must sow in fresh soil, the old is im- 
poverished. The old surface layers bear only a feeble 
wretched vegetation. Let the under soil come up in 
the light, and you will see something different ! 

“ Behold, Donna Micaella, why does socialism flour- 
ish why has that not foundered ? Because it comes 
with a new word. ‘ Think of the earth,’ it says, just 
as Christianity said : ‘ Think of heaven.’ Look 
around you ! Look at the earth, is not that all we 
possess ? Let us then arrange ourselves here in such 
a way, that we become happy. Why, why has no 
one thought of that before ? Because we have 
busied ourselves so much with that which is to come 
hereafter. Let us get rid of that ‘ hereafter ! ’ 
The earth, the earth, Donna Micaela ! Ah, we 
socialists, we love her ! We worship the sacred 
earth, the poor despised mother, who wears mourning 
because her children wish to ascend into heaven. 

“ Believe me, Donna Micaela,” he said, “ it will be 
done within seven years. When the year nineteen 
hundred dawns it will be ready. Martyrs will then 
have bled, apostles will then have preached, then 
will throng after throng have yielded. We, earth’s 
true sons, shall own the victory. And she will unfold 
to us all her sweetness. She will yield us beauty, 
yield us enjoyment, yield us learning, yield us 
health.” 

Gaetano’s voice began to falter, and tears quivered 
in his eyes. He walked to the verge of the terrace 
and stretched out his arms as if to embrace the 


SIROCCO 


53 


moonlit earth. “You are so dazzlingly beautiful,” 
he said, “ so dazzlingly beautiful.” 

And for a moment it seemed to Donna Micaela 
that she could feel his distress over all the anguish 
groveling beneath that beauteous exterior. She 
saw life with its vice and suffering as a filthy pond, 
full of rank impurities, winding along through this 
glittering world of beauty. 

“ And no one may enjoy thee,” said Gaetano, “ no 
one dares to enjoy these. Thou art untamed and 
full of caprice and wickedness. Thou art insecurity 
and danger, thou art remorse and agony, thou art 
want and shame, thou art all that is horrible because 
the people have not wished to make thee better. 
But thy day will come,” he said triumphantly. 
“ They will one day turn to thee with all their love. 
They will not turn to a dream which is powerless to 
help.” 

She interrupted him abruptly. She began to fear 
him more and more. 

“ It is true then, that you have not been success- 
ful in England ? ” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ It is said that the great master to whom Miss 
Tottenham sent you has said that you . . .” 

“ What has he said ? ” 

“ That you and your images were fit for Dia- 
mante, but nowhere else.” 

“ Who says such things ? ” 

“ One believes it, since you are so changed.” 

“ Because I am a socialist now ? ” 

“Why should you be that, if you have had 
success ? ” 


154 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

“Ah, why.. . . ? You do not know,” he con- 
tinued, laughing, “ that my master in England was a 
socialist himself. You do not know that it is he 
who has introduced these ideas to me . . .” 

He checked himself and did not continue the con- 
troversy. He went over to the bench, where he had 
been sitting when she came, and fetched a statuette. 
He handed it to Donna Micaela. It seemed as 
though he wished to say : “ See for yourself, if you 
are right.” 

She took it and held it up in the moonlight. It 
was a Mater Dolorosa in black marble. She saw it 
quite distinctly. 

She could also recognize it. The image bore her 
own features. It intoxicated her for a moment. 
The next she was filled with horror. He who was a 
socialist, he, who did not believe, he dared to make 
a Madonna ! And he had given the image her fea- 
tures. He involved her in his sin. 

“ I have made it for you, Donna Micaela,” he 
said. 

Ah, since it was hers ! She threw it out over the 
balustrade. It hit against the steep wall of rock, fell 
deeper and deeper, struck loose stones and was prob- 
ably itself dashed to pieces. Finally a splash was 
heard down in the Simeto. 

“ By what right do you carve Madonnas ? ” she 
asked Gaetano. 

He stood silent. He had never before seen Donna 
Micaela like that. 

At the same moment that she rose against him, 
she had become tall and stately. Beauty, which 
with her always came and went like a restless guest. 


SIROCCO 


155 


now sat enthroned upon her face. She looked cold 
and unbending, a woman, tempting to win and 
conquer. 

"You believe in God then, since you carve Ma- 
donnas ? ” she said. 

He breathed hard. Now it was he that was para- 
lyzed. He had been a believer himself. He knew 
how he had wounded her. He saw that he had for- 
feited her love. He had placed an endless formi- 
dable chasm between them. 

He must speak, he must win her over to his side. 

He began again but feebly and stutteringly. 

She listened quietly awhile. Then interrupted 
him almost compassionately. 

“ How did you become like that? ” 

“ I thought of Sicily,” he said passively. 

" You thought of Sicily,” she repeated thought- 
fully. “ And why did you come home ? ” 

“ I came home to rebel.” 

It was as though they had talked of a sickness, a 
cold, which he had contracted, and which could 
easily be cured. 

"You came home to ruin us,” she said sternly. 

" As you wish, as you wish,” he said complaisantly, 
" You may call it so. As everything now goes, you 
probably are right in calling it so. Ah, if one had 
not given me wrong information, if I had not come 
one week too late ! Is it not like us Sicilians to al- 
low the government to baffle us ? When I came, 
the chiefs were already arrested, the island occupied 
by forty thousand men ! All lost ! ” 

It sounded strangely desolate within him, when he 
said this " All lost.” And for this, of which nothing 


156 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

could have come, he had wasted his happiness. His 
ideas and principles seemed to him now dry spider- 
webs, which had caught him. He wanted to extri- 
cate himself in order to reach her. She alone was 
reality, the only thing that was his. Thus he had 
felt of yore. It came back to him now. She was all 
he had in the world. 

“ Nevertheless they fight in Paterno to-day.” 

“ There’s been a brawl at the city-gate,” he said. 
“ That’s nothing. Had I been able to set fire to the 
whole of Etna, to the whole wreath of cities encir- 
cling Etna, then, perhaps, we had been understood. 
One would have listened to us. Now only a lot of 
peasants are shot down to lessen the number of hun- 
gry mouths. Not a single concession is made us.” 

He pulled at his spider-web. Should he dare to 
approach her, tell her that all this was of no conse- 
quence to him? What need had he to think of 
politics? He was an artist, he was free. And he 
wanted her. 

At that moment the air seemed to vibrate. A 
shot rang through the night, then one more, so 
another. 

She came up to him and seized his wrist. “ Is this 
the insurrection?” she asked. Shot after shot 
boomed. Then was heard the cries and clamor of a 
crowd of people rushing down the street. 

“ It’s the insurrection, it must be the insurrection ! 
Ah, long live socialism ! ” 

He was filled with exultation. All his faith in his 
cause came back. Her too, he would win. Women 
have never refused to belong to the victor. 

Without a word further the two hurried through 


SIROCCO 


157 


the garden to the portal. There Gaetano began to 
swear and shout. He could not get out. There was 
no key in the lock. He was shut up in the garden. 

He looked round. On three sides were high walls, 
on the fourth was the precipice. There was no way 
out. But from the city a frightful uproar was heard. 
People rushed back and forth, there were shots and 
cries ! And above all were heard their yells of : 
“ Long live liberty, long live socialism ! ” He threw 
himself against the portal, and he too almost howled. 
He was caught. He could not join them. 

Donna Micaela came up to him as speedily as she 
could. Now, after she had heard him, she thought 
no more of keeping him back. 

“ Wait ! Wait ! ” she said. “ It is I who have 
taken the key.” 

“You, you!” he said. 

“ I took it when I came. It occurred to me that 
1 could keep you locked in here, should you want 
to rebel. I wished to save you.” 

“ What folly! ” he said, snatching the key. 

While he stood groping after the key-hole, he 
still had time to say something. 

“ Why will you not save me now ? ” 

She did not answer. 

“ Perhaps because your God would then have an 
opportunity to destroy me.” 

She continued silent. 

“ Dare you not protect me from his anger ? ” 

“ No, I dare not,” she said softly. 

“ You believers are terrible,” he said. 

He felt that she cast him off. That she did not 
make one effort to induce him to stay took away his 


i 5 8 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


courage. He turned the key forth and back without 
being able to open. She standing there behind him, 
pale and cold, paralyzed him. 

Suddenly he felt her arms about his neck and her 
lips seeking his. 

Just then the portal flew open, and he rushed 
away. He did not want her kisses, which only com 
secrated him to death. To him she was ghostly in 
her old faith. He dashed away like a fugitive. 


THE FEAST OF SAN SEBASTIANO 


159 


XI 

THE FEAST OF SAN SEBASTIANO 

When Gaetano had rushed away, Donna Micaela 
remained standing in Donna Elisa’s garden a long 
time. She stood there completely paralyzed and 
could neither feel nor think. 

At last it occurred to her that Gaetano and she 
were not the only ones in the world. She remembered 
her father, lying ill, and whom she had forgotten for 
so many hours. 

She went through the portal, out on the Corso, 
which lay deserted and empty. Noise and shots 
could still be heard far away, and she said to herself 
that there must be fighting down by Porta Etnea. 

The facade of the summer palace lay bathed in the 
bright moonlight, and it surprised her, that at this 
time of night the balcony doors were open and that 
the blinds were not closed. She wondered still more 
that both the portal and shop-door stood wide open. 

As she passed through the archway, she did not 
there see Piero, the old porter. The lantern in the 
court was not lit, and there was not a person to be 
seen anywhere. 

She ascended the steps to the gallery, and her foot 
hit against something hard. It was a small bronze 
vase, which belonged in the music-room. A few steps 
farther up she found a knife. It was a case-knife with 


l6o THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

long, dagger-like blade. As she lifted it up several 
dark drops trickled down the edge. She understood 
it must be blood. 

And likewise she understood that what she had 
feared the whole autumn, had now happened. The 
brigands had been in the summer-palace to plunder. 
And all there, who had been able to fly, had done so, 
but her father, who could not rise from his bed, must 
now be murdered. 

It was impossible for her to know whether the rob- 
bers were not still in the house. Now, however, when 
she was in the midst of the greatest danger, her fear 
vanished, and she hurried on, without stopping to con- 
sider that she was alone and defenseless. 

She passed through the gallery and entered the 
music-salon. In there the moonlight fell in broad 
streaks on the floor and in one of these streaks a 
human being lay outstretched. 

Donna Micaela bent down over this motionless form. 
It was Giannita. She was murdered, she had a deep 
gaping wound in the throat. 

Donna Micaela laid the body to rights, crossed the 
hands over the breast, and closed the eyes. In doing 
this, blood came on her hands, and when she felt this 
warm, sticky blood, she began to cry. “ Ah, my kind, 
beloved sister,” she said. “ Y our young life has passed 
away with this blood. Through your whole life you 
have loved me, and now you have shed your blood 
in defending my house. Is it to punish my hardness 
of heart, that God has taken you away from me ? 
Is it because I grudged your loving my beloved, who 
has now departed from me ? Ah, sister, sister, could 
you not punish me less severely ? ” 


THE FEAST OF SAN SEBASTIANO l6l 

She bent forward and kissed the forehead of the 
dead. “ You do not believe it,” she said. “You know 
that I have always been faithful to you. You know 
that I have loved you.” 

She now remembered that the dead one was parted 
from all that was earthly, and that it was not repent- 
ance or assurances of friendship that she needed. 
And she repeated a few prayers over the body, since 
the only thing she could do for her sister was to sup- 
port by pious thoughts, the fleeting spirit in its 
flight up to God. 

Then she walked on, not afraid of anything that 
might happen to herself, but in unutterable anguish 
over what might have befallen her father. 

When she had finally traversed the spacious salons 
and stood by the door to the sick-chamber, her hands 
groped long after the lock, and, having found it, she 
had no strength to open it. 

Her father then called from within, asking who it 
was. When she heard his voice, and knew that he 
was alive, she felt as though all within her trembled 
and gave way and lost the power of serving her. 
Both heart and brain failed her at the same time, and 
the muscles could no longer support her. She was 
still able to think that this was due to her having 
lived in such terrible suspense. And with a sin- 
gular feeling of deliverance she sank into a long 
swoon. 

Donna Micaela regained consciousness towards 
morning. Much had then happened. The servants 
had come forth from their hiding places, and gone 
for Donna Elisa. She had taken charge of the de- 
serted palace, had sent after police and a message to 
ii 


1 62 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

the white brotherhood. And these had carried 
Giannita’s body to her mother’s house. 

When Donna Micaela awoke, she found herself ly- 
ing on a sofa in a room outside her father’s. No one 
was with her, but in there she heard Donna Elisa 
talking. 

“ My son and my daughter,” said Donna Elisa, sob- 
bing, “ I have lost both my son and my daughter.” 

Donna Micaela tried to rise, but could not. Her 
body was still in a dormant state, though her soul had 
awaked. 

“ Cavaliere, Cavaliere,” said Donna Elisa, “ can you 
understand this? Here come brigands from Etna 
stealing into Diamante. Here come brigands firing 
at the custom-house and crying : ‘ Long live socialism.’ 
And this they do only to frighten the people away 
from the street and to entice the carabineers down to 
Porta Etnea. There is not one man in Diamante who 
is a party to this. It is the brigands who create all 
the disturbance, to get a chance to plunder Miss 
Tottenham and Donna Micaela, plunder two women, 
Cavaliere ! What have those gentlemen officers be- 
lieved, who held court-martial ? Have they believed 
that Gaetano was in league with the brigands ? Didn’t 
they see that he was a gentleman, a genuine Alagona, 
an artist ? How were they capable of sentencing 
him?” 

Donna Micaela listened in consternation, but she 
endeavored to persuade herself that she was still 
dreaming. She fancied she could hear Gaetano ask- 
ing if she were sacrificing him to God ? And it 
seemed to her she answered that she did. Now she 
dreamed of how it would be, in case he had actually 


THE FEAST OF SAN SEBASTIANO 1 63 

been taken prisoner. It could not be anything 
else. 

“What evil night is this?” said Donna Elisa. 
“What is it flying about through the air making 
the people bewildered and desperate? You have 
seen Gaetano, Cavaliere. He has always, to be sure, 
been impetuous and high-spirited, but he has not 
been devoid of sense. Yet this night he rushes 
straight into the arms of the troops. You know 
that he wanted to rebel, you know that he had come 
home for the purpose of rebelling. And when he 
hears the shooting and the cries of ‘ Long live social- 
ism ! ’ he becomes wild and giddy. He says to him- 
self that it is the insurrection, and he rushes down 
the street to join in it, crying ‘ Long live socialism’ 
with all his might. And so he meets a great num- 
ber of soldiers, a whole army. For they were on 
their way to Paterno, but heard the shooting in Dia- 
mante, and marched in here to see what the matter 
was. And Gaetano is no longer able to distinguish 
a soldier’s cap. He believes it is the insurrection- 
ists, he believes it is the angels of heaven, and he 
rushes in amongst them and lets them take him 
prisoner. And these who before have captured 
all the brigands, as they stole away with their plun- 
der, now also lay hands on Gaetano. They pass 
through the city and find everything quiet, but be- 
fore departing they pronounce sentence upon their 
prisoners. And Gaetano receives the same sentence 
as those who have committed burglary and murdered 
women. Have they not lost their senses, Cavaliere ? ” 

Donna Micaela could not hear what her father 
answered. She herself wanted to ask a thousand 


164 the miracles of antichrist 

questions, but she was still petrified and could not 
move. She wondered if Gaetano had been shot. 

“ What do they mean by sentencing him to twenty- 
nine years imprisonment ? ” said Donna Elisa. “ Do 
they think that he will be able to live so long, or 
that any one who loves him will live so long ? He 
is dead, Cavaliere, dead to me as is Giannita.” 

Donna Micaela felt as though she were bound by 
strong fetters, in order that she might not escape. 
This was worse, she thought, than if she had been 
tied to a pillory and whipped. 

“ All the happiness of my old age is taken from me,” 
said Donna Elisa. “ Both Giannita and Gaetano ! 
I have always looked forward to their marrying each 
other. It would have been such a suitable match, 
because both were my children and loved me. What 
have I now to live for, when I have no youth around 
me ? It was often hard to make ends meet at the 
time when Gaetano came to me, and I was told that 
I should be better off were I alone. But I answered : 

‘ It matters not to me, so long as I may have 
youth around me.’ And I thought that when he 
grew up, he would take to himself a young wife, 
and they would have little children, and I should 
never need to be a lonely, useless, old woman.” 

Donna Micaela lay thinking that she might have 
saved Gaetano, but had not wished to do so. But 
why had she not wished to do it ? It seemed incon- 
ceivable to her now. She began to enumerate all the 
reasons she had had for allowing him to rush head- 
long to destruction. He was an atheist and socialist, 
and he wanted to aid the insurrectionists. And that 
had outweighed everything else, when she had 


THE FEAST OF SAN SEBASTIANO 165 

opened the gardemgate for him ! It had also weighed 
up her love. She did not understand it, now. It 
was as if scales full of feathers could have weighed up 
scales full of gold. 

“ My handsome boy ! ” said Donna Elisa, “ my 
handsome boy ! He was already a great man over 
there in England, and he came home to help us poor 
Sicilians. And now they have sentenced him as 
though he were a bandit. It is said they came near 
shooting him, like the rest. Perhaps it had been bet- 
ter had they done so, Cavaliere. It had been better 
to have laid him to rest in the churchyard than to 
know him in prison. How will he be able to endure 
all his suffering? He cannot bear it, he will be sick, 
he will soon be dead.” 

As she said this, Donna Micaela tore herself loose 
from her stupor and rose. She staggered through 
the room and came in to her father and Donna Elisa, 
as deathly pale as the poor murdered Giannita. She 
was so weak, that she dared not enter, but remained 
standing by the door, supporting herself against the 
doorpost. 

“ It is I, Donna Elisa,” she said ; “ it is I. . .” 

The words would not pass her lips. She clenched 
her hands in despair at not being able to speak. 

In a moment Donna Elisa was by her side. She 
laid her arm about her for support without heeding 
Donna Micaela’s attempts to push her away. 

“ You must forgive me, Donna Elisa,” she said al- 
most inaudibly. “ I have done it.” 

Donna Elisa paid very little attention to what she 
said. She saw that she had fever and thought she 
was delirious. 


1 66 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

Donna Micaela’s lips worked, and it was evident 
that she wished to say something, but only a few 
words were audible. It v/as impossible to understand 
what she meant. “ Towards him as towards my 
father,” she repeated again and again. And then 
she said something about her causing the ruin of all 
those she loved. 

Donna Elisa had got her into a chair, and there 
Donna Micaela fell to kissing her old wrinkled hands 
and begging her to forgive what she had done. 

Of course Donna Elisa forgave her. 

Donna Micaela looked her sharply in the face with 
great feverish eyes and asked if it were true. 

Of course it was true. 

She then laid her head on Donna Elisa’s shoulder 
and wept, and afterwards she thanked her, saying 
that she could not live if she did not forgive her. 
Against no one had she so sinned as against her. 
Could she forgive her ? 

Donna Elisa said, “ Yes, yes,” again and again, be- 
lieving that she raved in consequence of fever and 
fright. 

“ There is something I would like to tell you,” said 
Donna Micaela. “ I know it, but you do not. You 
won t forgive me, if you are told it.” 

“ I do indeed forgive you,” said Donna Elisa. 

They continued long in this way without under- 
standing each other, but that night it was well for 
old Donna Elisa to have something to mother and 
comfort and give strengtheningherbs and medicines. 
It was well for her that there was still some one, who 
came and laid her head against her shoulder and 
wept over her sorrow. 


THE FEAST OF SAN SEBASTIANO 


67 


Donna Micaela, who for nearly three years had 
loved Gaetano, without a thought that they should 
ever belong to each other, had accustomed herself to 
a peculiar kind of love. It sufficed her to know 
that Gaetano loved her. When she thought of that, 
a delicious feeling of security would steal over her. 
“ What matters it, what matters it ? ” she would say, 
when she experienced reverses. “ Gaetano loves 
me.” He was always with her, encouraging and 
comforting her. He lived in all her thoughts and 
doings. He was the breath of life itself to her. 

As soon as Donna Micaela could procure his ad- 
dress, she wrote to him. She then confessed to him 
that she had a firm belief that he would meet 
with misfortune. But she had feared so much for 
that which he would accomplish in the world that 
she dared not save him. 

She also wrote how she abhorred his doctrines. 
She did not dissemble at all. She said, that even if 
he were free, she could not become his. 

She feared him. He had such a power over her, 
that were they to become united, he would make her 
a socialist and atheist. Therefore she must always 
live separated from him, in order to save her soul. 

But she begged and entreated him, that in spite of 
all this, he would not cease to love her. He must 
not, he must not ! He might punish her, in any 
way whatsoever, only he did not cease to love her. 

He must not do as her father had done. It was 
perhaps no more than right that he too now closed 
his heart against her ; nevertheless he must not do it. 
He must be merciful. 


1 68 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

If he knew how she loved him, if he knew how 
she dreamed of him ! 

And she told him that he was nothing less than 
life itself to her. 

“ Must I die, Gaetano?" she asked. 

“ It is not enough, then, that these ideas and doc- 
trines separate us. It is not enough, that they have 
sent you to prison. Will you also cease to love me 
because we do not think alike? " 

“ Ah, Gaetano, love me ! nothing will come of it, 
there’s no hope in your love, but love me ! I shall 
die if you do not love me." 

Donna Micaela had no sooner mailed this letter, 
than she began to expect an answer. She imagined 
she would get an angry, stormy letter in return. She 
hoped, however, that there would be one word at 
least, which proved that he still loved her. 

But she waited several weeks without receiving 
any letter from Gaetano. 

It did not help that every morning she stood out 
on the gallery waiting for the postman, and made 
him almost sad to be obliged always to say that he 
had nothing for her. 

One day she went herself to the post-office and 
begged with the most beseeching eyes, to have that 
letter she was expecting. It surely must be there, 
she said. But perhaps they could not read the ad- 
dress, perhaps it had got into a wrong box ? And 
her soft imploring eyes moved the postmaster so 
that she was allowed to search through piles of 
old letters not called for and turn all the post- 
office drawers upside down. But it availed noth- 
ing. 


THE FEAST OF SAN SEBASTIANO 1 69 

She also wrote new letters to Gaetano ; but still 
no answer came. 

Then she began to try to believe what seemed to 
her impossible. She tried to initiate into her soul 
the consciousness that Gaetano had ceased to love her. 

As this certainty increased she began to lock her- 
self in her room. She became afraid of people and 
preferred solitude. 

Day by day she grew weaker. She walked deeply 
bowed, and even her beautiful eyes seemed to lose 
life and luster. 

After a few weeks she grew so weak that she could 
no longer hold herself upright, but was obliged to lie 
all day on a sofa. She was a prey to an ailment 
which slowly took away from her all vitality. She 
saw that she was nearing death, and she feared to 
die. But there was nothing for her to do. There 
was but one remedy. That, however, did not come. 

While Donna Micaela thus slowly seemed to glide 
out of life, preparations were being made in Dia- 
mante to celebrate the feast of San Sebastiano, which 
comes towards the end of January. 

It was the greatest of all feasts celebrated in 
Diamante, but during the last years it had not been 
observed with the usual display, because too great 
distress and gloom had oppressed the minds of the 
people. 

But this year, immediately after the insurrection 
had failed, and while Sicily was still filled with strange 
troops, and while the beloved heroes of the people 
languished in prison, it was proposed to keep the 
feast with old-fashioned pomp, because this, it was 
said, was not the time to neglect the saints. 


170 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

And the pious people of Diamante decided that 
the feast should be held one week, and that San 
Sebastiano should be celebrated by a display of 
colors and decorations, and by races, and a biblical 
procession, and illuminations and song competition. 

So they set about with great bustle and zeal. In 
every house was scrubbing and polishing. The old 
procession clothes were taken out and preparations 
were made to receive guests from all Etna. 

The only house in Diamante where all was quiet 
was the summer-palace. Donna Elisa was deeply 
grieved over this, but she could not persuade Donna 
Micaela to allow her house to be decorated. “ How 
can you ask that I should decorate such a house of 
sorrow with flowers and greens?” she said. “The 
roses would shed their petals, were I to use them to 
conceal the misery which reigns here.” 

But Donna Elisa was wholly wrapped up in the 
feast, and expected that much good would come of 
celebrating the saints as in former days. She talked 
of nothing else, save how the priests were having the 
facade of the cathedral decorated in the old Sicilian 
fashion, with silver flowers and mirrors. And she 
described the festive procession. There would be so 
many horsemen, and the plumes in their hats would 
be so high, and so long, and they would carry flower- 
twined canes with wax candles at the top in their 
hands. 

The first feast-day found Donna Elisa’s house 
decorated most gorgeously. One saw there Italy’s 
green white and red flag fluttering from the roof, and 
red gold-fringed banners with the Saint’s monograms 
were spread out over window-sills and balcony rails. 


THE FEAST OF SAN SEBASTIANO IJ7I 

And up and down the walls ran garlands of holy- 
oak, and round the windows crept wreaths bound of 
the small pink roses from Donna Elisa’s garden. 
Right above the entrance was the image of the 
saint, framed in lilies, and on the threshold lay sprays 
of cypress. And had one entered the house one 
would have found it as beautifully adorned inside as 
outside. From attic to cellar, it was cleansed and 
polished and decked with flowers, and on the shelves 
of the shop there was not a saint, however small or 
obscure, that did not have an immortelle, or an 
English daisy, in its hand. 

And along the whole street of poor little Dia- 
mante the houses had been decorated in the same man- 
ner as Donna Elisa’s. There was such a confusion 
of flags that one thought of the wash-clothes hang- 
ing from the earth to the sky in the alley above the 
little Moor’s house. All houses and all triumphal 
arches had flags, and across the street hung ropes, 
where streamer beside streamer fluttered. 

At every tenth step the people had placed trium- 
phal-arches. And over every portal stood an image 
of the saint, set in wreaths of yellow immortelles. 
The balconies were covered with red quilts, and bright 
colored table-covers, and up the walls climbed stiff 
garlands. 

There was such an abundance of flowers and 
green that no one could conceive how it had been 
possible to procure all this as early as January. 
Everything was wreathed and garlanded. The broom- 
stick wore a wreath of crocuses, and the knocker a 
bunch of hyacinths. But in the windows stood 
pictures with monograms and inscriptions of bluish- 


172 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


red anemones. And between these decorated houses 
rolled the great stream of people. It was not the 
inhabitants of Diamante alone, who celebrated San 
Sebastiano. From all parts of Etna came yellow, 
gorgeously mounted and painted traps, drawn by 
horses in ornamented harness and loaded with people. 
The sick and beggars and blind singers also came 
in great numbers. 

So many people were come, that it was a marvel 
how all could be accommodated within the city walls. 
There were people on the street, people in the win- 
dows, people on the balconies. On the high stone 
steps sat people, and the shops were full of them. The 
large street-doors were thrown wide open, and in the 
entries chairs were placed in a semicircle as at a thea- 
ter. There sat the host and hostess and guests watch- 
ing the passers-by. Everywhere through the whole 
street there rose an intoxicating clamor. It was not 
enough that the people talked and laughed. There 
were also organ-grinders whose organs were of im- 
mense size. There were street-singers, and there 
were men and women, who recited Tasso in shrill, 
cracked voices. There were all sorts of heralds, from 
all the churches came peals of music and at the mar- 
ket place, the city band played, so that it could be 
heard all over Diamante. 

This merry clamor and the scent of flowers and 
fluttering of flags outside Donna Micaela’s windows 
had power to rouse her from her stupor. She rose 
as if life had summoned her. “ I do not wish to die,” 
she said to herself, “ I will try to live.” 

She took her father’s arm and went out on the 
street. She hoped that the life out there would in- 


THE FEAST OF SAN SEBASTIANO 173 

toxicate her, so that she would be able to forget her 
grief. “ If this does not succeed,” she thought, “ if 
I cannot find diversion, I must die.” 

Now in Diamante there was a poor old stonecut- 
ter, who had thought that he might earn a couple of 
soldi during the feast. Therefore he had formed out 
of lava several little busts of San Sebastiano and of 
Pope Leo XIII. And knowing that many in Dia- 
mante loved Gaetano and grieved over his fate, he 
also made a few likenesses of him. 

No sooner had Donna Micaela come out in the 
street than she chanced to meet this man, and he 
asked her to buy his miserable little images. 

“Buy Don Gaetano Alagona, Donna Micaela,” 
said the man, “buy Don Gaetano, whom the govern- 
ment have put into prison, because he wished to 
succor Sicily.” 

Donna Micaela pressed her father’s arm and hur- 
ried on. 

But in the Cafe Europa stood the landlord’s son 
and sang canzonets. He had composed some new 
ones for the occasion, and among others also a couple 
about Gaetano. Because there was no knowing 
whether the people would not like particularly to 
hear about him. 

As Donna Micaela was passing the cafe she heard 
the singing and stopped to listen. 

“Ah, Gaetano, Gaetano,” sang the young man. 
“ Songs are powerful. I will sing you free with my 
songs. First I send you the lithe canzonet. He 
will glide in between your prison-bars and break 
them. Then I will send you the sonnet, which is 
fair as a woman to bribe your keepers. And after 


174 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


that I’ll write you the glorious ode, which will shake 
your prison walls with its proud rhythms. But 
should none of these help you I will break forth into 
the powerful epopee, which possesses armies of 
words ! and like an army marches bravely onward, O 
Gaetano. All the legions of ancient Rome would 
not have had power to check it.” 

During the song Donna Micaela clung convulsively 
to her father’s arm. She said nothing, however, but 
walked on. 

Caveliere Palmeri then began to speak of Gaetano. 
“ I did not know he was so beloved,” he said. 

“ Nor I,” murmured Donna Micaela. 

“ To-day, however, I have seen strange people en- 
tering Donna Elisa’s shop, begging her to be allowed 
to buy something, that he had carved. She had 
nothing left but a couple of old rosaries, and I saw 
her tear them apart and distribute them, bead after 
bead.” 

Donna Micaela looked at her father as a suppliant 
child. But he did not know whether she wished 
him to be silent or to continue speaking. 

“ Donna Elisa’s old friends go about down in the 
garden with Luca,” he said, “ and Luca shows them 
Gaetano’s favorite spots and the garden-plot which 
he used to plant. And Pacifica sits in the work-shop 
beside the planing-bench telling all sorts of things 
about him, ever since he was so big.” 

The crush and noise became so great around him 
that he was obliged to discontinue. 

They intended to go to the cathedral. On the 
steps sat old Assunta as usual. She held a rosary 
in her hands and muttered the same prayer round 


THE FEAST OF SAN SEBASTIANO 1 75 

the whole rosary. She begged the saint that 
Gaeteno, who had promised to help all the poor, 
should be allowed to return to Diamante. 

As Donna Micaela passed her, she heard plainly : 
“ San Sebastiano, give us Gaetano. Ah, for thy 
mercy’s sake, ah, for our misery’s sake, San Sebas- 
tiano, give us Gaetano ! ” 

Donna Micaela had intended to enter the church, 
but she turned on the step. 

“ It is so crowded in there,” she said. “ I do not 
dare.” 

She went home again. But while she had been 
away, Donna Elisa had availed herself of the oppor- 
tunity. She had raised a flag on the roof of the 
summer palace, she had draped the balconies, and 
when Donna Micaela came home, she was fastening 
a garland in the portal. For Donna Elisa could not 
bear that the summer palace was not decorated. 
There must nothing be lacking this time in San 
Sebastiano’s honor. And she feared that the saint 
would not help Diamante and Gaetano if the old 
palace of the Alagonas did not celebrate him. 

Donna Micaela came walking along, pale as death, 
and so bent that she appeared to be eighty years 
old. 

She muttered to herself, “ I make him no busts, I 
sing no songs about him, I dare not pray to God for 
him, I buy none of his beads. How shall he be 
able to believe that I love him ? He must love all 
these others, who worship him, but not me. I do 
not belong to his world, me he can no longer love.” 

And when she saw that another wished to adorn 
her house with flowers, it seemed to her so horribly 


1 76 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

cruel, that she snatched the wreath away from Donna 
Elisa and threw it at her feet, and asked if she 
wanted to murder her. 

Then she walked by her up the steps and into her 
room. She threw herself on the sofa and buried her 
face in the pillows. 

Until now she had not understood how these out- 
ward conditions separated her from Gaetano. A 
friend of the people could not love her. 

And moreover, she felt as though she had pre- 
vented him from aiding all these poor ones. 

How he must detest her, how he must hate her ! 

And her old malady came stealing over her again. 
This malady which consisted in not being loved ! It 
would murder her. It seemed to her as she lay 
there, that all was past, all was ended. Suddenly 
the image of the little Christ-child appeared to her 
inner vision. It was as if he had entered the room 
in all his miserable pomp. She saw him plainly. 

Donna Micaela began to invoke the Christ-child’s 
aid. And she wondered that she had not before 
turned to this kind helper. No doubt it was because 
the image did not stand in a church, but was carried 
about like an article of curiosity by Miss Tottenham 
who only remembered him in her severest trials. 

It was late in the evening of the same day. After 
dinner Donna Micaela had given her servants per- 
mission to go to the feast, so that she and her father 
were alone in the large house. But about ten o’clock 
her father rose and said, that he would like to hear 
the song competition at the market-place. And 
when he went Donna Micaela dared not sit all alone 


THE FEAST OF SAN SEBASTIANO 1 77 

at home, but had to make up her mind to accompany 
him. 

When they reached the market-place they saw it 
transformed into a theater with row upon row of 
chairs. Every nook was filled with people, and it 
was with difficulty they found room. 

“ To-night Diamante is grand, Micaela,” said Ca- 
valiere Palmeri. It was as if the loveliness of the 
night had softened him. He spoke more kindly and 
tenderly to his daughter than he had done for a long 
time. 

Donna Micaela thought that he spoke truly. She 
had the same feeling as when she came to Diamante 
for the first time. It was the city of marvels, of 
beauty, a little sanctuary of God. 

Straight before her stood a high and magnificent 
building, built of luminous diamonds. She was 
obliged to reflect a moment, before she knew what 
it was. 

However it was nothing but the facade of the 
cathedral, which had been decorated with flowers of 
stiff silver and gold paper, and with thousands of small 
mirrors, stuck in between the flowers. And in every 
flower hung a small oil-glass with a flame about the 
size of a firefly. This was very pretty. It was the 
most enchanting illumination Donna Micaela had 
seen. 

There was no other light in the market-place, and 
none other was necessary. The black Palazzo Geraci 
stood there, fiery red, as if it had been illumined by 
a conflagration. 

Nothing of the world was seen but the market- 
place. Everything beyond was wrapt in darkness, 
12 


178 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


It seemed to her that she once more recognized the 
old bewitching Diamante, which was not of the earth 
but a holy citadel on one of the mountains of heaven. 
The town-hall with its massive balconies and the 
high staircase, the long nunnery and the Roman 
gateway were again marvelous and beautiful. And 
she could hardly believe that it was in this city she 
had met with such intense suffering. 

In the midst of this great mass of people no cold 
was felt. The winter night was as warm as a night 
in spring. And Donna Micaela began to feel some- 
thing of spring in her heart. It began to tremble 
and quake within her in a manner both sweet and 
terrible. So must it feel in Etna’s snowcaps when 
the sun dissolves them into sparkling mountain 
brooks. 

She looked at the people that filled the market- 
place and was astonished that the sight of them had 
so tortured her in the morning. It pleased her that 
they loved Gaetano. Ah, if he had only continued 
to love her, she would have been unspeakably proud 
and happy over their love. Then she could have 
kissed those old rough hands, which made images of 
him and were folded for him in prayer. 

As she sat thinking of this, the church door was 
thrown open and a large flat wagon covered with red 
cloth was rolled out of the church. Highest upon 
the wagon stood San Sebastiano at his pole, and 
below the image sat the four singers, who were to 
compete. 

It was an old blind man from Nicolosi, a cooper 
from Catania, who was considered the best improvi- 
ser in all Sicily, a blacksmith from Termini and the 


THE FEAST OF SAN SEBASTIANO 179 

little Gandolfo, who was the son of the watchman at 
the town-hall in Diamante. 

All the people were astonished that Gandolfo 
dared to appear in such a critical competition. Did 
he do it to please his fiancee the little Rosalia ? No 
one had ever heard that he could improvise. All 
his life he had done nothing but eat oranges and 
stare at Etna. 

First, lots were cast between the competitors, re- 
sulting in the cooper’s turn coming first and little 
Gandolfo’s last. When the drawing of lots turned 
out thus, Gandolfo grew pale. It was terrible to 
be last, when all were to speak on the same subject. 

The cooper chose to speak of San Sebastiano 
when he was legislator in ancient Rome, and on ac- 
count of his faith was tied to a pole and used as a 
target by his comrades. After him came the blind 
man, who related how a pious Roman lady found 
the martyr, bloody and pierced through with arrows, 
and succeeded in bringing him back to life. Then 
came the blacksmith who told about all the miracles 
San Sebastiano had performed in Sicily during the 
plague in the year fifteen hundred. They all re- 
ceived a great deal of praise. They all used very 
strong language about blood and death, and the 
people were in raptures over them. But the Dia- 
mantians became anxious about little Gandolfo. 

“ The blacksmith takes all the words away from 
him. He is sure to fail,” they said. 

Others said, “ Ah, little Rosalia will take the be- 
trothal ribbon out of her braid on that account.” 

But Gandolfo crouched down in his corner of the 
wagon. He became smaller and smaller. Those 


180 THE MIRACLES OE ANTICHRIST 

sitting near could hear how his teeth chattered from 
fright. 

Finally when his turn came, and he rose and com- 
menced improvising, he was very deficient. He was 
worse than any one had expected. He stumbled 
through a couple of verses, but it was only a repeti- 
tion of what the others had said. 

Then all at once he became' silent and gasped for 
breath. During that moment of hopeless despair he 
grew suddenly strong. He straightened himself up 
and a faint color rose to his cheeks. 

“ O, signori,” said Gandolfo, “ let me speak of 
that of which I am always thinking ! Let me tell of 
that which I always see before me ! ” 

And he began to relate freely and with great force 
what he himself had seen. He told about how he, 
who was a son of the town-hall keeper, had crept across 
dark attics and lain hidden in one of the galleries of 
the court that night, when the court-martial assembled 
to judge the insurgents in Diamante. 

He had then seen Don Gaetano Alagona on the 
bench of the accused in company with a number of 
wild fellows, who were worse than brutes. 

He told about how handsome Gaetano had been. 
To Gandolfo he had seemed like a god beside those 
terrible people around him. And he described these 
banditti with their beast-like faces, their coarse hair, 
their uncouth limbs. He said they were such, that 
to look into their eyes made one’s heart quiver. 

Yet, in all his beauty, Don Gaetano was more ter- 
rible than these people. Gandolfo knew not how 
they dared to sit beside him on the bench. The 
withering glances which flashed beneath his knit 


THE FEAST OF SAN SEBASTIANO l8l 

brows upon his fellow-prisoners ought to have mur- 
dered their souls if, like other beings, they had pos- 
sessed them. 

“Who are you,” he seemed to ask, “who dare to 
take to pillage and murder, while you invoke the 
blessed freedom. Do you know what you have 
done ? Do you know that because of this scheme of 
yours I am now a prisoner ? And I was to have 
saved Sicily ! ” And every glance he cast upon them 
was a death-warrant. 

His eye fell upon all the things the bandits had 
stolen and which now lay on the table of the court. 
He recognized them. Should he not know the pen- 
dulum-clocks and the silver dishes from the summer 
palace, should he not know the images of saints and 
coins, that had been stolen from his English pat- 
roness ? But when he had recognized these things 
he gave his fellow-prisoners a ghastly smile. “You 
heroes, you heroes ! ” said the smile, “ you have 
robbed two women.” 

His noble face was constantly changing. Once 
Gandolfo had seen it contract from sudden terror. 
It was when the man sitting next to him had 
stretched out a hand covered with blood. Had he 
perhaps suddenly divined the truth ? Did it occur 
to him just then that these had effected an entrance 
into the house where his beloved was staying? 

Gandolfo told how the officers, who were to be 
the judges, had entered, silently and solemnly, and 
had sat down in their places. But, he said, when he 
saw these grand gentlemen, his anxiety had de- 
creased. He had said to himself, that they knew 
that Don Gaetano was a noble gentleman, and that 


1 82 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


they would not convict him. They would not con- 
found him with the bandits. How could any one 
believe that he had wished to plunder two women. 

And behold, when the judge summoned Gaetano 
Alagona, his voice was without harshness. He 
spoke to him as to an equal. 

“ But/’ said Gandolfo, “ now when Gaetano rose 
his position was such that he could look out over 
the market-place. And here in this very place, where 
now so many people are sitting in joy and delight, 
a funeral procession was then marching along. 

“ It was the white brotherhood, who carried the 
body of the murdered Giannita to her mother’s 
house. They carried torches, and one could plainly 
see the litter which rested on the shoulders of the 
bearers. While the procession moved slowly across 
the square it was possible to recognize the pall 
spread over the corpse. It was the pall of the Ala- 
gonas adorned with their showy arms and rich silver 
fringe. But when Gaetano saw this he knew that 
the murdered was from the house of the Alagonas. 
His face became ashy, and he staggered as though 
he were about to fall. 

“At that moment the judge asked him: 4 Do 
you know the murdered ? ’ And he answered : ‘ Yes.’ 
Then the judge, who was a compassionate man, con- 
tinued: ‘Was she near to you?' And Don Gae- 
tano answered : ‘ I love her.’ ” 

When Gandolfo had proceeded so far in his narra- 
tion, Donna Micaela was seen to rise impetuously, 
as though she had wished to gainsay him, but Cava- 
liere Palmeri drew her down quickly beside him. 

“ Be still, be still,” he said to her. 


THE FEAST OF SAN SEBASTIANO 1 83 

And she sat quietly with her face bowed in her 
hands. Now and then she rocked her body to and 
fro, and moaned softly. 

But Gandolfo told how the judge, when Gaetano 
had confessed this, had pointed to his fellow- 
prisoners and asked him : “ If you loved this woman, 
how then can you have anything in common with 
these, who have murdered her ? ” 

Then Don Gaetano had turned to the brigands. 
He had lifted his clenched hand towards them and 
shaken it. And he had looked as if he wished he 
had a dagger to thrust them down one by one. 

“ With these ! ” he had cried : “ Should I have any- 
thing in common with these ? ” 

And in all probability he had intended to say that 
he had nothing to do with robbers and murderers. 
The judge had smiled kindly upon him and looked 
as though he were only waiting for this answer in 
order to acquit him. 

But a miracle of God had then taken place. 

And Gandolfo told how, among all the stolen 
articles lying on the court-table, there was also a 
little Christ image. It was about two feet high, and 
richly beset with jewelry, and arrayed in a gold 
crown and gold shoes. Just at that moment one 
of the officers bent forward to take the Uttle image, 
and in doing so, the crown fell to the floor and rolled 
to Don Gaetano’s feet. 

Don Gaetano took up the crown, held it for a 
moment in his hands, and examined it carefully. It 
seemed as if he had read something on it. 

He held it only for a moment. In the next the 
guard took it away from him. 


1 84 THE miracles of antichrist 

Donna Micaela looked up, almost terrified. The 
image of Christ! There he was already. Would 
her prayer be answered immediately ? 

Gandolfo continued : “ But when Gaetano now 
looked up, every one trembled as though they beheld 
a miracle, for the man was transfigured. 

“ O, signori, he was so white that his face appeared 
luminous, and his eyes were calm and beamed softly- 
“ And in him was no longer any anger. 

“ And he began to pray for his fellow-prisoners, he 
began to pray for their lives. 

“ He prayed, that they should not kill these wretched 
fellow-creatures. He prayed that the august judges 
should instead do something for them, so that they 
might live as others. We have only this life to live, 
he said. ‘ Our kingdom is only of this world. ’ 

“ He began to tell how these men had lived. He 
spoke as though he were able to read their souls. He 
told the story of their dismal and wretched lives. His 
speech was such that a few of the august gentlemen 
wept. 

“ The words came strong and forcibly, so that it 
seemed as if Don Gaetano had been judge and the 
judges the offenders. ‘ Behold ! * he said to them, 
‘ whose fault is it, that these poor human beings have 
been lost ? Ought not you, who possess the power, 
to have taken care of them ? ’ 

“ And one saw how filled with consternation they 
were at the responsibility he threw upon them. 

“ But the judge had suddenly interrupted him. 

“ ‘ Speak in your own defense, Gaetano Alagona,’ 
he said, ‘ and not in behalf of others ! ’ 

“ Then had Don Gaetano smiled. ‘ Signor,’ he said* 


THE FEAST OF SAN SEBASTIANO 1 85 

* I have not much more than you to defend myself 
with. But I have nevertheless something. I have 
given up my pursuit in England for the sake of aiding 
the rebellion in Sicily. I have brought home 
weapons. I have made revolutionary speeches. ‘ I 
have something though not much/ 

“The judge had almost begged him. ‘Do not 
speak so, Don Gaetano,’ he had said. ‘ Think of 
what you are saying ! ’ 

“His confessions, however, were such, that they 
were compelled to sentence him. 

“ When they had told him that he should be put in 
prison for twenty-nine years he had cried : ‘ Now her 
will is done, whom they just carried past. May it 
be as she wished ! ’ 

“ And I saw no more of him,” said the little 
Gandolfo, for the guardsmen took him between 
them and led him away. 

“ But I who heard him pray for them, who had 
murdered his beloved, promised myself that I would 
do something for him. 

“ I promised to recite a beautiful improvisation to 
San Sebastiano in order that he might help him. 
But I have not succeeded. I am no improvisatore, 
I could not do it.” 

Here he ceased and threw himself down before the 
image and sobbed aloud. “ Forgive me that I was 
not able,” he cried, “ and help him notwithstanding. 
Thou knowest that when they sentenced him I 
promised to do this for his sake, so that thou might 
save him, but now I have not been able to speak of 
thee and thou wilt not help him.” 

Donna Micaela hardly knew how it happened that 


1 86 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

she and little Rosalia, who loved Gandolfo, were at 
his side almost simultaneously. They embraced and 
kissed him and told him that no one had spoken 
like him, no one, no one. Didn’t he see how they 
wept ? San Sebastiano was satisfied with him. 
Donna Micaela put a ring on the boy’s finger and 
round about him was waving of many-colored silk 
handkerchiefs, which glittered like waves in the in- 
tense light from the cathedral wall. “ Viva Gae- 
tano, viva Gandolfo ! ” cried the people. 

And flowers and fruit and silk handkerchiefs and 
trinkets rained down upon little Gandolfo. Donna 
Micaela was pushed away from him almost by force. 
But it did not occur to her to feel frightened. She 
stood right in the midst of the surging throng weep- 
ing. The tears streamed down her face, and she 
wept for joy. That was the greatest blessing of all. 

She wanted to push forward to Gandolfo, she could 
not thank him enough. Had he not told her that 
Gaetano loved her. When he had quoted these words : 
“ Now is her will done, whom they just now carried 
by, she had understood at once, that Gaetano had 
believed it was she lying there under the Alagona pall. 

And of the dead one he had said : “ I love her.” 

The blood flowed anew in her veins, her heart beat 
again, the tears fell. “ It is life, life, ’ she said to her- 
self, while she passively was carried back and forth 
by the crowd. “ Life has returned to me. I shall 
not die.” 

All pressed forward to little Gandolfo to thank him 
because he gave them something to love, to hope 
for, to long for, during these days of gloom, when all 
seemed lost. 


BOOK II 

“ Antichrist shall go from land to land and give bread to the 
poor.” 


I 

A GREAT MAN’S WIFE 

It was in February and the almond-trees com- 
menced to blossom on the black lava fields round 
about Diamante. 

Cavaliere Palmeri had taken a walk up Etna and 
brought home a large almond branch, full of buds 
and flowers, and placed it in a vase in the music- 
room. 

Donna Micaela started when she saw it. They 
had come, then, the almond flowers. And for a 
whole month, for six whole weeks, they would be 
found everywhere. 

They would stand on the altar in church, they 
would lie on the graves, and they would be worn in 
the buttonhole, in the hat, in the hair. They would 
bloom along the roads, among the ruins, on the 
black lava. And every flower would remind her of 
the day that the bells rang, when Gaetano was free 
and happy, and she dreamed of a whole long life 
with him. 

It seemed to her as though she had never before 

187 


i88 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


fully understood what it meant, that he was gone, 
imprisoned, that she never more should see him. 

She was obliged to sit down to keep from falling, 
it seemed as if her heart would cease beating, and 
she closed her eyes. 

While she sat thus she had a vision. 

She seemed to find herself all at once at home in 
the palace in Catania. She sits in the lofty vesti- 
bule, reading, and she is a gay young lady, Signorina 
Palmeri. A footman then enters, ushering in a 
pedler. It is a young, handsome fellow, with a 
sprig of almond blossoms in his buttonhole, on his 
head he carries a board full of small images of saints, 
carved in wood. 

She buys a few of the images, and in the mean- 
time the young man’s eyes devour all the works of 
art in the vestibule. She asks him if he would like 
to see their collections. Of course he would. And 
she herself accompanies him and shows him. 

What he sees affords him such great pleasure that 
she thinks he ought to become a real artist, and she 
promises herself not to forget him. She asks him 
where he lives.— He replies : “ In Diamante ” — “ Is 

that faraway ? ” — “ Four miles by the mail coach.” — 
“ And by railroad ? ” — “ There is no railroad to 
Diamante, signorina.” — “You must build one.” — 
“ We are too poor. Ask the rich people of Catania to 
build us a railroad ! ” 

When he has said this he goes to the door, but 
turns, and comes and gives her his almond blossoms. 
It was an acknowledgment for all the lovely things 
he had been permitted to see. 

When Donna Micaela opened her eyes, she did 


A GREAT MAN’S WIFE 


189 

not know whether she had dreamed or whether 
something similar had happened in reality. Gaetano 
might very well have been in Palazzo Palmeri to 
sell his images, although it had escaped her memory, 
but now the almond blossoms had recalled it. 

But what did that matter? The main thing was 
that the young carver was Gaetano. It seemed as 
though she had been speaking with him. She 
thought she heard the door close behind him. 

And it was after this that the idea occurred to her 
of building a railroad between Catania and Dia- 
mante. 

Surely Gaetano had come to beg her to do this. 
It was a command from him, and she felt that she 
must obey. 

She made no attempt whatever to struggle against 
it. She was certain that Diamante needed a railroad 
more than anything else. She had once heard 
Gaetano say that if Diamante only had a railroad, 
so that they easily could send away their oranges 
and wine and their honey and their almonds, and so 
that the tourists could conveniently get there, then 
it would soon be a rich city. 

She also felt quite certain that a railroad could 
be brought about. At all events she must try. It 
did not at all occur to her to refrain from doing so. 
Since Gaetano wished it, she must obey. 

She began immediately to consider how much 
money she herself could contribute. But that would 
not go far. She must procure money. That was 
the first thing to be done. 

That same hour, she was over to Donna Elisa and 
asking her for help to arrange a bazar. Donna Elisa 


190 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

lifted her eyes from her embroidery. “ Why do you 
wish to arrange a bazar?” — “I intend to collect 
money for a railroad.” — “ That’s like you, Donna 
Micaela, no one else would have thought of such 
a thing.” — “What, Donna Elisa? What do you 
mean ? ” — “ Oh, nothing.” And Donna Elisa kept on 
embroidering. 

“ You won’t have anything to do with the bazar 
then?” — “No.” — “And would you not make a 
small contribution towards it ? ” — “ One who so 
recently has lost her husband,” answered Donna 
Elisa, “should not begin with nonsense.” 

Donna Micaela perceived that Donna Elisa was 
vexed with her for one reason or another, and there- 
fore would not help her. But surely there were 
others who would see that this was a glorious idea, 
which would rescue Diamante. 

But Donna Micaela had to wander in vain from 
door to door. No matter how much she talked and 
begged, she gained no adherents. 

She tried to explain. She used all her eloquence 
in persuading, but no one would acquiesce in her 
scheme. 

Wherever she went she received the same an- 
swer : “ We are too poor.” 

The syndic’s wife answered no. Her daughters 
should not be allowed to take part in the bazar. Don 
Antonio Greco, who owned the marionette theater, 
would not come with his dolls. The city musicians 
would not play. No merchant would provide goods. 
When she had gone, all only laughed at her. 

A railroad, a railroad ! She knew not what she 
was thinking of. There would have to be a com- 


A GREAT MAN’S WIFE 191 

pany formed, shares, by-laws, concessions. How 

should a woman be able to manage such things? 

Some, however, were not satisfied with laughing at 
Donna Micaela, some became angry with her. 

She went to the cellar-like shop near the old Bene- 
dictine monastery, where Master Pamphilio related 
stories of chivalry. She came to ask him if he would 
come to her bazar and entertain the audience with 
Charles the Great and his knight-errants, but as he 
was just in the middle of a discourse, she had to sit 
down on a bench and wait. 

She then observed Donna Concetta, Master Pam- 
philio’s wife, who sat on the platform at his feet 
with her knitting. As long as Master Pamphilio 
spoke Donna Concetta’s lips moved. She had heard 
his stories so many times that she knew them by 
heart, and pronounced the words before they had 
passed Master Pamphilio’s lips. Nevertheless she 
always felt the same pleasure in listening to him, and 
she wept and laughed as she had done when she 
heard him for the first time. 

Master Pamphilio was an old man, who had talked 
a great deal in his day, so that his voice failed him 
when he came to the great battle scenes, and it was 
necessary to speak vehemently and fast. But Donna 
Concetta, who knew every point by heart, never 
took the word away from Master Pamphilio. She 
only made a sign to the audience that they should 
wait till the voice came. But if memory failed him, 
Donna Concetta feigned that she had dropped a 
stitch, put her knitting up to her eye and whispered 
the word to him from behind it, so that no one 
noticed it. And all knew that although Donna 


192 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


Concetta might perhaps have been able to relate 
the stories better than Master Pamphilio, she would 
never have wished to do so, not only because such a 
thing would have been unseemly in a woman, but 
also because it could not have been such a pleasure 
to her as to hear the dear Master Pamphilio. 

When Donna Micaela saw Donna Concetta, she 
fell to dreaming. O, to sit thus, below the platform 
where the beloved one was speaking, to sit thus day 
after day and adore. 

But when Master Pamphilio had finished speak- 
ing, Donna Micaela went up to him and begged 
him to help her. And it was difficult for him to say 
no, on account of the thousand prayers written in 
her eyes. But Donna Concetta came to his aid. 
“ Master Pamphilio, ” she said, “ relate about Gugliel- 
mo the Wicked, for Donna Micaela.” And Master 
Pamphilio related. 

“ Donna Micaela,” he said, “ do you know that 
in Sicily there was once a king named Guglielmo 
the Wicked ? He was so stingy that he took away 
from his subjects all their money. He commanded 
that all who owned gold coins should give them to 
him. And he was so harsh and cruel that all were 
compelled to obey him. 

“ Well, Donna Micaela, now Guglielmo the Wicked 
wished to know if any of his subjects had gold coins 
concealed in their houses. And therefore he sent 
out one of his servants along the Corso in Palermo 
with a beautiful horse. And the man offered the 
horse for sale and cried loudly : ‘ Will be sold for 
a gold coin, will be sold for a gold coin ! ’ But there 
was no one who could buy the horse. 


A GREAT MAN'S WIFE 


193 


“ However it was a very beautiful horse, and a 
young gentleman in Palermo, Prince Montefiascone, 
became very much charmed with it. 6 There is no 
more joy for me, if I cannot buy that horse,’ he 
said to his steward. * Signor Duca,’ answe.ed his 
steward, ‘ I can tell you where you can find a gold coin. 
When your father died and was taken away to the 
Capuchins, I placed, according to ancient custom, a 
gold coin in his mouth. Why not take that, signor ? ’ 
“ For know, Donna Micaela, that in Palermo 
they do not bury their dead in the ground. They 
convey them to the monastery of the Capuchins, 
and hang them up in their sepulchers. Ah, how 
many there are hanging in those chambers ! So 
many ladies dressed in silk and silver-gauze, so 
many grand gentlemen with orders on their dress- 
coats, and so many priests in gown and calotte, over 
the skeleton and death-skull. 

“ The young prince followed the advice. He pro- 
ceeded to the Capuchin’s monastery, took the gold 
coin out of his father’s mouth, and bought the horse 
with it. 

“ But mark that the king had sent out his servant 
with the horse only to find out if any one still pos- 
sessed money. And now the prince was brought 
before the king. ‘ How happens it that you still 
have gold coins?’ said Guglielmo the Wicked. 
‘ Sire, it was not mine, it was my father’s. And 
he related how he had got the coin. ‘You speak 
truly,’ said the king. ‘ I had forgotten that the 
dead still own money.’ And he sent his servants 
to the Capuchins and had all the coins removed 
from the mouths of the dead.” 


194 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


Here old Master Pamphilio ended his narrative. 
And now Donna Concetta turned in anger to Donna 
Micaela. “ It is you who are out leading the horse,” 
she said. 

“Am I ? am I ?” 

“ You, you, Donna Micaela. The government will 
now say : ‘ They are building a railroad in Diamante. 
They are rich then.’ And it will increase our taxes. 
And God knows that we are not able to pay the 
tax we already are burdened with, even if we took 
and plundered our forefathers.” 

Donna Micaela tried to calm her. 

“They have sent you to find out if we still have 
any money. You are a spy for the rich, you are in 
league with the government. Those bloodsuckers 
in Rome have paid you.” 

Donna Micaela turned away from her. 

“ I came to speak with you, Master Pamphilio,” 
she said, turning to the old man. 

“ But I am the one to answer you,” remarked 
Donna Concetta, “ because this is an unpleasant affair, 
and such I must manage. I know what is incum- 
bent on the wife of a great man, Donna Micaela.” 

Donna Concetta ceased, for the fine lady looked 
at her with eyes so full of envious pining, that it 
filled her with pity. But then there had also been 
a difference in the men, Don Ferrante and Master 
Pamphilio ! 


PANEM ET CIRCENSIS 


195 


II 

PANEM ET CIRCENSIS 

In Diamante travelers are shown two palaces, 
crumbling to ruins without ever having been com- 
pleted. They have immense window embrasures 
without frames, high walls without roof and great 
portals closed up by boards and straw. The two 
palaces lie opposite each other on both sides of the 
streets, both equally incomplete and equally ruin- 
ous. There is no scaffolding around them, and no 
one can get inside them. They seem to be built 
only for the doves. 

And this is what is told of them. 

“ What is a woman, O signore ? Her foot is so 
small, that she passes through the world and leaves 
no trace behind her. To the man she is as his 
shadow. She has followed him through his whole 
life without his noticing her. 

“ One cannot expect much of a woman. Is she 
not shut up all day in the house like a prisoner? 
She cannot even learn to spell a love-letter correctly. 
She can do nothing that has consistency. When 
she is dead, there is nothing to write on her grave- 
stone. All women are of about the same height. 

“ But one time there came to Diamante a woman 
who was so much above all others as the 
century-old palm is above the grass. She had lires 


196 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

by the ten thousand and could give them away or 
keep them, as she pleased. She went out of the 
way for nobody. She feared not to become hated. 
She was the greatest wonder eyes had ever beheld. 

“ Of course she was no Sicilian. She was English. 
And the first thing she did on her arrival, was to 
take the first floor of the hotel for herself alone. 
But what was that for her ? All Diamante had not 
been sufficient for her. 

“ No, all Diamante was certainly not enough for 
her. However, as soon as she came she began to 
reign over the city as a queen. The syndic had to 
obey her. Was it not she who compelled him to 
place stone benches on the market-place! Was it 
not at her command that the streets were swept 
every day ! 

“ In the morning when she woke, all the young 
men of Diamante stood waiting outside her door 
to be her escort on some excursion. They had left 
the shoemakers’ bench and the stone-pick to serve 
her as guides. They had sold their motherVsilk 
dresses to buy lady’s saddles for their donkeys, so 
that she might ride to the citadel or Tre Castagni. 
They had deprived themselves of house and home 
to purchase a horse, so that they might drive her to 
Randazzo and Nicolosi. 

“ We were all her slaves. The children began to 
beg in English, and the blind women at the hotel 
gate, Donna Pepa and Donna Tura, draped them- 
selves in dazzling white veils to please her. 

“ Everything moved round her, trade and pro- 
fessions grew up around her. They who could do 
nothing else dug in the earth after coins and earthen- 


PANEM ET CIRCENSIS 


I97 


ware to offer her. Photographers took up their 
abode in the city and commenced to work for her. 
Coral-traders and tortoise mongers grew up from 
the earth about her. The priests in Santa Agnese 
dug up the old Dionysius theater, which lay hidden 
behind their church, for her sake, and everyone 
who owned a tumbling down villa, dug out, in the 
darkness of the cellars, fragments of mosaic floors, and 
by great placards invited her to come and see. 

“ There had, to be sure, been strangers ere now in 
Diamante, but they had come and gone and no one 
had possessed such power. Soon there was not a 
man in the city who did not put all his trust in the 
English signorina. She even succeeded in putting 
a little life in Ugo Favara. You recollect Ugo 
Favara, the advocate, who was to become a great 
man, but who met with adversity and came home 
quite broken down. She employed him to look 
after her affairs. She needed him, and she took him. 

“There had never been a woman in Diamante 
who had done such business as she. She spread 
like green-weed in spring. One day no one yet 
knows that it is there, the next it is a large knoll. 
Soon one could hardly go anywhere in Diamante 
without lighting on her ground. She bought a 
country-seat and city-residence, she bought almond 
groves and lava streams. All the beautiful places 
on Etna, from which one had a fine view were hers, 
and likewise the soggy land on the plain. And in 
the city she commenced to build two large palaces. 
In them she would live and rule her kingdom. 

“ Never again shall one behold a woman like her. 
It was not enough with all that. She also wished 


198 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

to struggle with poverty, O, Signore, with Sicilian 
poverty ! What did she not distribute daily, and 
what did she not give away during the festivals ! 
Carts drawn by two pairs of oxen, drove down to 
Catania and came back laden with all sorts of cloth- 
ing. She was determined that all should have 
whole clothes in the city where she reigned. 

“ But now, listen what happened to her, what 
came of her struggle against poverty and of her 
sovereign power and her palaces. 

“ She gave a banquet for the poor of Diamante, 
and after the banquet a play at the Grecian theater. 
It was what an emperor might have done. But who 
had ever before heard of a woman doing such a 
thing ? 

“ She invited all the poor. There were the two 
blind women from the hotel gate and old Assunta 
from the cathedral steps. There was the man from 
the post-office, who had his chin done up in a red 
handkerchief on account of cancer of the face ; and 
the idiot, who opens the iron portals of the Grecian 
theater, was there. All the donkey-boys were there, 
and the brothers without hands, who blew up a 
bomb in their childhood and lost their fingers ; and 
there were the invalid with the wooden leg and the 
old chairmaker, who had become too old to work. 

“ It was wonderful to see them crawl out of their 
holes, all the poor of Diamante. The old women 
who sit at their distaffs in the dark lanes were 
there, and the organ grinder who has an instrument 
as large as a church organ and a wandering young 
mandolin player from Naples filled with all sorts 
of deviltry. All those who had eye diseases and the 


PANEM ET CIRCENSIS 


199 


decrepit, they who were without roofs over their 
heads, they who were wont to gather sorrel at the 
roadside for dinner, the stone cutter who earned a 
lire a day and had six children to care for, all had 
been invited and were present at the feast. 

“ It was poverty, advancing its troops against the 
English signorina. Who indeed has such an army 
as poverty ? But for once the English signorina 
could conquer him. 

“ She had also something to fight with and to 
conquer with. She had the whole market-place full 
of tables amply provided with all sorts of good 
things. She had barrels of wine laid up the whole 
length of the stone-bench which ran along the 
cathedral wall. She had transformed the whole 
extinct convent into a dining-table and kitchen. 
She had the whole colony of strangers in Dia- 
mante, dressed in white aprons, distributing the 
courses. She had the Diamante who were wont to 
eat their fill, sauntering back and forth as spectators. 

“ Ah, spectators, who indeed were not her specta- 
tors ! She had the mighty Etna, and the glittering 
sun. She had the rosy inland mountains and the 
ancient temple of Vulcan now consecrated to San 
Pasquale. And none of these had ever beheld Dia- 
mante satiated. It had never occurred to them 
until now how much would be added to their own 
beauty if, in beholding them, hunger did not hiss in 
one’s ears and tread on one’s heels. 

“ Remarkable and great as this signorina was, 
beauty she did not possess. And, in spite of all her 
power, she was not pleasing or charming. She gov- 
erned not with jest nor did she reward with smiles. 


200 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


She had a heavy, inactive body, and she had a heavy 
and inactive temperament. 

“ This day when she gave food to the poor, she 
seemed quite like a different being. A chivalrous 
people inhabit our noble isle. Among all these 
poor there was no one who made her feel that she 
practised charity. They worshiped her, but it was 
as woman they worshiped her. They sat down to 
dine as though it were with an equal. They treated 
her as a hostess is treated by her guests. To-day 
I do you the honor of coming to you, to-morrow 
you do me the honor of coming to me. 

“ She stood on the high steps of the court-house 
and looked down over the tables. And when the 
old chair-maker, who sat at the head of the table, 
had had his glass filled, he rose, bowed to her and 
said: ‘ I drink to your welfare, signorina.’ 

“ And thus they all did. They laid the hand on the 
heart, and bowed to her. It had perhaps been well 
for her if she had met with so much chivalry earlier 
in life. Why had the men in her native land suffered 
her to forget that women are made to adore ? 

“ Here all looked as though they burned with 
gentle adoration. Thus the women on our noble 
isle are treated. What did they not give in re- 
turn for the food and wine she bestowed. They 
gave youth and a light heart, and all the honor of 
being enviable. They made speeches to her. 
‘ Magnanimous signorina, you who have come to us 
from over the sea, you who love Sicily/ and so 
forth and so forth. She showed that she could blush. 
She no longer concealed that she had a smile. 
When they had finished speaking, the lips of the 


PANEM ET CIRCENSIS 


201 


English signorina commenced to quiver. She 
became twenty years younger. It was what she 
needed. 

“ There was the donkey-boy, who was wont to con- 
duct the English ladies up to T re Castagni, and who al- 
ways fell in love with them, before parting with them. 
His eyes were now suddenly opened for the great 
benefactress. It is not a slender, delicate body and 
a soft complexion only that are worthy of adoration, 
but also power and energy. The donkey-boy sud- 
denly dropped knife and fork, rested his elbows on 
the table and remained in that posture looking at 
her. And all the other donkey-boys did likewise. 
It spread like a disease. It became hot round the 
English signorina from burning glances. 

“ It was not the poor alone that worshiped her. 
The advocate, Ugo Favara, came and whispered to 
her that she was come as a providence to his im- 
poverished country and to him. ‘ If I only had 
met such a woman as you before,’ he said. 

“Just fancy an old bird that has sat in his cage 
for many years and become seedy, and has lost all 
luster. And then someone comes and puts every- 
thing to rights and restores the luster. Just fancy 
that, signore ! 

“ There was that boy from Naples. He took out 
his mandolin all of a sudden and began to sing. 
You know how he sings, and how he whimpers 
with his enormous mouth, and repeats bad words. 
Oftenest he is like a grinning mask. But have you 
seen that he has an angel in his eyes ? An angel 
that seems to weep over his fall and is full of all 
sorts of mischief. And to-night he was only angel. 


202 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

He lifted his head as if he had been inspired 
by God, and the limp body became buoyant and 
straightened itself up, fired with fresh courage. The 
deathly pale cheeks received color, and he sang so that 
one saw the tones rushing from his lips like fire- 
flies filling the air with gladness. 

“ As night drew near, all marched to the Grecian 
Theater. That was the conclusion of the feast. 
What had she not to offer there ! 

“ She had the Russian singer and the German va- 
riety-artist. She had the English wrestlers and the 
American jugglers. But was that compared to 
everything else, to the silvery moonlight, and to the 
place and to the memories ! It was as though the poor 
had felt themselves as Greeks and propagators of 
culture, as they once more were permitted to stretch 
themselves on the stone benches of their own dear 
theater, and, between the crumbling pillars of the 
scene to gaze out upon the grandest of panoramas. 
The poor were not parsimonious, they shared all the 
happiness bestowed upon them. They were not 
sparing of exultation, their applause was without 
limit. They who appeared on the platform de- 
scended from it with a wealth of praise. 

“ Someone exhorted the English signorina to ap- 
pear on the scene. Was not all this homage intended 
for her ? She ought to stand face to face with it 
and feel it. And they told her how it intoxicated, 
how it lifted, how it animated. 

“ The proposal pleased her. She agreed to it im- 
mediately. She had sung in her youth, and the 
English are such that they never fear to sing. She 
would not have done it otherwise, but now she was 


BOOK II 


“ Antichrist shall go from land to land and give bread to the 
poor.” 


I 

A GREAT MAN’S WIFE 

It was in February and the almond-trees com- 
menced to blossom on the black lava fields round 
about Diamante. 

Cavaliere Palmeri had taken -a walk up Etna and 
brought home a large almond branch, full of buds 
and flowers, and placed it in a vase in the music- 
room. 

Donna Micaela started when she saw it. They 
had come, then, the almond flowers. And for a 
whole month, for six whole weeks, they would be 
found everywhere. 

They would stand on the altar in church, they 
would lie on the graves, and they would be worn in 
the buttonhole, in the hat, in the hair. They would 
bloom along the roads, among the ruins, on the 
black lava. And every flower would remind her of 
the day that the bells rang, when Gaetano was free 
and happy, and she dreamed of a whole long life 
with him. 

It seemed to her as though she had never before 

187 


1 88 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


fully understood what it meant, that he was gone, 
imprisoned, that she never more should see him. 

She was obliged to sit down to keep from falling, 
it seemed as if her heart would cease beating, and 
she closed her eyes. 

While she sat thus she had a vision. 

She seemed to find herself all at once at home in 
the palace in Catania. She sits in the lofty vesti- 
bule, reading, and she is a gay young lady, Signorina 
Palmeri. A footman then enters, ushering in a 
pedler. It is a young, handsome fellow, with a 
sprig of almond blossoms in his buttonhole, on his 
head he carries a board full of small images of saints, 
carved in wood. 

She buys a few of the images, and in the mean- 
time the young man’s eyes devour all the works of 
art in the vestibule. She asks him if he would like 
to see their collections. Of course he would. And 
she herself accompanies him and shows him. 

What he sees affords him such great pleasure that 
she thinks he ought to become a real artist, and she 
promises herself not to forget him. She asks him 
where he lives. — He replies : “ In Diamante ” — “ Is 

that faraway ? ” — “ Four miles by the mail coach.” — 
“ And by railroad ? ” — “ There is no railroad to 
Diamante, signorina.” — “You must build one.” — 
“ We are too poor. Ask the rich people of Catania to 
build us a railroad ! ” 

When he has said this he goes to the door, but 
turns, and comes and gives her his almond blossoms. 
It was an acknowledgment for all the lovely things 
he had been permitted to see. 

When Donna Micaela opened her eyes, she did 


A GREAT MAN’S WIFE 


189 

not know whether she had dreamed or whether 
something similar had happened in reality. Gaetano 
might very well have been in Palazzo Palmeri to 
sell his images, although it had escaped her memory, 
but now the almond blossoms had recalled it. 

But what did that matter? The main thing was 
that the young carver was Gaetano. It seemed as 
though she had been speaking with him. She 
thought she heard the door close behind him. 

And it was after this that the idea occurred to her 
of building a railroad between Catania and Dia- 
mante. 

Surely Gaetano had come to beg her to do this. 
It was a command from him, and she felt that she 
must obey. 

She made no attempt whatever to struggle against 
it. She was certain that Diamante needed a railroad 
more than anything else. She had once heard 
Gaetano say that if Diamante only had a railroad, 
so that they easily could send away their oranges 
and wine and their honey and their almonds, and so 
that the tourists could conveniently get there, then 
it would soon be a rich city. 

She also felt quite certain that a railroad could 
be brought about. At all events she must try. It 
did not at all occur to her to refrain from doing so. 
Since Gaetano wished it, she must obey. 

She began immediately to consider how much 
money she herself could contribute. But that would 
not go far. She must procure money. That was 
the first thing to be done. 

That same hour, she was over to Donna Elisa and 
asking her for help to arrange a bazar. Donna Elisa 


190 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

lifted her eyes from her embroidery. “ Why do you 
wish to arrange a bazar?” — “I intend to collect 
money for a railroad.” — “That’s like you, Donna 
Micaela, no one else would have thought of such 
a thing.” — “What, Donna Elisa? What do you 
mean ? ” — “ Oh, nothing.” And Donna Elisa kept on 
embroidering. 

“You won’t have anything to do with the bazar 
then?” — “No.” — “And would you not make a 
small contribution towards it ? ” — “ One who so 
recently has lost her husband,” answered Donna 
Elisa, “should not begin with nonsense.” 

Donna Micaela perceived that Donna Elisa was 
vexed with her for one reason or another, and there- 
fore would not help her. But surely there were 
others who would see that this was a glorious idea, 
which would rescue Diamante. 

But Donna Micaela had to wander in vain from 
door to door. No matter how much she talked and 
begged, she gained no adherents. 

She tried to explain. She used all her eloquence 
in persuading, but no one would acquiesce in her 
scheme. 

Wherever she went she received the same an- 
swer : “ We are too poor.” 

The syndic’s wife answered no. Her daughters 
should not be allowed to take part in the bazar. Don 
Antonio Greco, who owned the marionette theater, 
would not come with his dolls. The city musicians 
would not play. No merchant would provide goods. 
When she had gone, all only laughed at her. 

A railroad, a railroad ! She knew not what she 
was thinking of. There would have to be a com- 


A GREAT MAN’S WIFE 


I 9 I 

pany formed, shares, by-laws, concessions. How 
should a woman be able to manage such things? 

Some, however, were not satisfied with laughing at 
Donna Micaela, some became angry with her. 

She went to the cellar-like shop near the old Bene- 
dictine monastery, where Master Pamphilio related 
stories of chivalry. She came to ask him if he would 
come to her bazar and entertain the audience with 
Charles the Great and his knight-errants, but as he 
was just in the middle of a discourse, she had to sit 
down on a bench and wait. 

She then observed Donna Concetta, Master Pam- 
philio’s wife, who sat on the platform at his feet 
with her knitting. As long as Master Pamphilio 
spoke Donna Concetta’s lips moved. She had heard 
his stories so many times that she knew them by 
heart, and pronounced the words before they had 
passed Master Pamphilio’s lips. Nevertheless she 
always felt the same pleasure in listening to him, and 
she wept and laughed as she had done when she 
heard him for the first time. 

Master Pamphilio was an old man, who had talked 
a great deal in his day, so that his voice failed him 
when he came to the great battle scenes, and it was 
necessary to speak vehemently and fast. But Donna 
Concetta, who knew every point by heart, never 
took the word away from Master Pamphilio. She 
only made a sign to the audience that they should 
wait till the voice came. But if memory failed him, 
Donna Concetta feigned that she had dropped a 
stitch, put her knitting up to her eye and whispered 
the word to him from behind it, so that no one 
noticed it. And all knew that although Donna 


192 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


Concetta might perhaps have been able to relate 
the stories better than Master Pamphilio, she would 
never have wished to do so, not only because such a 
thing would have been unseemly in a woman, but 
also because it could not have been such a pleasure 
to her as to hear the dear Master Pamphilio. 

When Donna Micaela saw Donna Concetta, she 
fell to dreaming. O, to sit thus, below the platform 
where the beloved one was speaking, to sit thus day 
after day and adore. 

But when Master Pamphilio had finished speak- 
ing, Donna Micaela went up to him and begged 
him to help her. And it was difficult for him to say 
no, on account of the thousand prayers written in 
her eyes. But Donna Concetta came to his aid. 
“ Master Pamphilio,” she said, “ relate about Gugliel- 
mo the Wicked, for Donna Micaela.” And Master 
Pamphilio related. 

“ Donna Micaela,” he said, “ do you know that 
in Sicily there was once a king named Guglielmo 
the Wicked ? He was so stingy that he took away 
from his subjects all their money. He commanded 
that all who owned gold coins should give them to 
him. And he was so harsh and cruel that all were 
compelled to obey him. 

“ Well, Donna Micaela, now Guglielmo the Wicked 
wished to know if any of his subjects had gold coins 
concealed in their houses. And therefore he sent 
out one of his servants along the Corso in Palermo 
with a beautiful horse. And the man offered the 
horse for sale and cried loudly : 4 Will be sold for 
a gold coin, will be sold for a gold coin ! ’ But there 
was no one who could buy the horse. 


A GREAT MAN’S WIFE 


193 


“ However it was a very beautiful horse, and a 
young gentleman in Palermo, Prince Montefiascone, 
became very much charmed with it. ‘ There is no 
more joy for me, if I cannot buy that horse,’ he 
said to his steward. * Signor Duca,’ answered his 
steward, ‘ I can tell you where you can find a gold coin. 
When your father died and was taken away to the 
Capuchins, I placed, according to ancient custom, a 
gold coin in his mouth. Why not take that, signor ? ’ 
“ For know, Donna Micaela, that in Palermo 
they do not bury their dead in the ground. They 
convey them to the monastery of the Capuchins, 
and hang them up in their sepulchers. Ah, how 
many there are hanging in those chambers ! So 
many ladies dressed in silk and silver-gauze, so 
many grand gentlemen with orders on their dress- 
coats, and so many priests in gown and calotte, over 
the skeleton and death-skull. * 

“ The young prince followed the advice. He pro- 
ceeded to the Capuchin’s monastery, took the gold 
coin out of his father’s mouth, and bought the horse 
with it. 

“ But mark that the king had sent out his servant 
with the horse only to find out if any one still pos- 
sessed money. And now the prince was brought 
before the king. ‘ How happens it that you still 
have gold coins?’ said Guglielmo the Wicked. 
‘ Sire, it was not mine, it was my father’s. And 
he related how he had got the coin. ‘You speak 
truly,’ said the king. ‘ I had forgotten that the 
dead still own money.’ And he sent his servants 
to the Capuchins and had all the coins removed 
from the mouths of the dead.” 


194 THE miracles of antichrist 

Here old Master Pamphilio ended his narrative. 
And now Donna Concetta turned in anger to Donna 
Micaela. “ It is you who are out leading the horse,” 
she said. 

“ Am I ? am I ?” 

“ You, you, Donna Micaela. The government will 
now say : ‘ They are building a railroad in Diamante. 
They are rich then.’ And it will increase our taxes. 
And God knows that we are not able to pay the 
tax we already are burdened with, even if we took 
and plundered our forefathers.” 

Donna Micaela tried to calm her. 

“They have sent you to find out if we still have 
any money. You are a spy for the rich, you are in 
league with the government. Those bloodsuckers 
in Rome have paid you.” 

Donna Micaela turned away from her. 

“I came to speak. with you, Master Pamphilio,” 
she said, turning to the old man. 

“ But I am the one to answer you,” remarked 
Donna Concetta, “ because this is an unpleasant affair, 
and such I must manage. I know what is incum- 
bent on the wife of a great man, Donna Micaela.” 

Donna Concetta ceased, for the fine lady looked 
at her with eyes so full of envious pining, that it 
filled her with pity. But then there had also been 
a difference in the men, Don Ferrante and Master 
Pamphilio ! 


PANEM ET CIRCENSIS 


195 


II 

PANEM ET CIRCENSIS 

In Diamante travelers are shown two palaces, 
crumbling to ruins without ever having been com- 
pleted. They have immense window embrasures 
without frames, high walls without roof and great 
portals closed up by boards and straw. The two 
palaces lie opposite each other on both sides of the 
streets, both equally incomplete and equally ruin- 
ous. There is no scaffolding around them, and no 
one can get inside them. They seem to be built 
only for the doves. 

And this is what is told of them. 

“ What is a woman, O signore ? Her foot is so 
small, that she passes through the world and leaves 
no trace behind her. To the man she is as his 
shadow. She has followed him through his whole 
life without his noticing her. 

“ One cannot expect much of a woman. Is she 
not shut up all day in the house like a prisoner? 
She cannot even learn to spell a love-letter correctly. 
She can do nothing that has consistency. When 
she is dead, there is nothing to write on her grave- 
stone. All women are of about the same height. 

“ But one time there came to Diamante a woman 
who was so much above all others as the 
century-old palm is above the grass. She had lires 


196 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

by the ten thousand and could give them away or 
keep them, as she pleased. She went out of the 
way for nobody. She feared not to become hated. 
She was the greatest wonder eyes had ever beheld. 

“ Of course she was no Sicilian. She was English. 
And the first thing she did on her arrival, was to 
take the first floor of the hotel for herself alone. 
But what was that for her ? All Diamante had not 
been sufficient for her. 

“ No, all Diamante was certainly not enough for 
her. However, as soon as she came she began to 
reign over the city as a queen. The syndic had to 
obey her. Was it not she who compelled him to 
place stone benches on the market-place ! Was it 
not at her command that the streets were swept 
every day ! 

“ In the morning when she woke, all the young 
men of Diamante stood waiting outside her door 
to be her escort on some excursion. They had left 
the shoemakers’ bench and the stone-pick to serve 
her as guides. They had sold their mother’s silk 
dresses to buy lady’s saddles for their donkeys, so 
that she might ride to the citadel or Tre Castagni. 
They had deprived themselves of house and home 
to purchase a horse, so that they might drive her to 
Randazzo and Nicolosi. 

“ We were all her slaves. The children began to 
beg in English, and the blind women at the hotel 
gate, Donna Pepa and Donna Tura, draped them- 
selves in dazzling white veils to please her. 

“ Everything moved round her, trade and pro- 
fessions grew up around her. They who could do 
nothing else dug in the earth after coins and earthen- 


PANEM ET CIRCENSIS 


197 


ware to offer her. Photographers took up their 
abode in the city and commenced to work for her. 
Coral-traders and tortoise mongers grew up from 
the earth about her. The priests in Santa Agnese 
dug up the old Dionysius theater, which lay hidden 
behind their church, for her sake, and everyone 
who owned a tumbling down villa, dug out, in the 
darkness of the cellars, fragments of mosaic floors, and 
by great placards invited her to come and see. 

“ There had, to be sure, been strangers ere now in 
Diamante, but they had come and gone and no one 
had possessed such power. Soon there was not a 
man in the city who did not put all his trust in the 
English signorina. She even succeeded in putting 
a little life in Ugo Favara. You recollect Ugo 
Favara, the advocate, who was to become a great 
man, but who met with adversity and came home 
quite broken down. She employed him to look 
after her affairs. She needed him, and she took him. 

“ There had never been a woman in Diamante 
who had done such business as she. She spread 
like green-weed in spring. One day no one yet 
knows that it is there, the next it is a large knoll. 
Soon one could hardly go anywhere in Diamante 
without lighting on her ground. She bought a 
country-seat and city-residence, she bought almond 
groves and lava streams. All the beautiful places 
on Etna, from which one had a fine view were hers, 
and likewise the soggy land on the plain. And in 
the city she commenced to build two large palaces. 
In them she would live and rule her kingdom. 

“ Never again shall one behold a woman like her. 
It was not enough with all that. She also wished 


198 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

to struggle with poverty, O, Signore, with Sicilian 
poverty ! What did she not distribute daily, and 
what did she not give away during the festivals ! 
Carts drawn by two pairs of oxen, drove down to 
Catania and came back laden with all sorts of cloth- 
ing. She was determined that all should have 
whole clothes in the city where she reigned. 

“ But now, listen what happened to her, what 
came of her struggle against poverty and of her 
sovereign power and her palaces. 

“ She gave a banquet for the poor of Diamante, 
and after the banquet a play at the Grecian theater. 
It was what an emperor might have done. But who 
had ever before heard of a woman doing such a 
thing ? 

“ She invited all the poor. There were the two 
blind women from the hotel gate and old Assunta 
from the cathedral steps. There was the man from 
the post-office, who had his chin done up in a red 
handkerchief on account of cancer of the face ; and 
the idiot, who opens the iron portals of the Grecian 
theater, was there. All the donkey-boys were there, 
and the brothers without hands, who blew up a 
bomb in their childhood and lost their fingers ; and 
there were the invalid with the wooden leg and the 
old chairmaker, who had become too old to work. 

“ It was wonderful to see them crawl out of their 
holes, all the poor of Diamante. The old women 
who sit at their distaffs in the dark lanes were 
there, and the organ grinder who has an instrument 
as large as a church organ and a wandering young 
mandolin player from Naples filled with all sorts 
of deviltry. All those who had eye diseases and the 


PANEM ET CIRCENSIS 


199 


decrepit, they who were without roofs over their 
heads, they who were wont to gather sorrel at the 
roadside for dinner, the stone cutter who earned a 
lire a day and had six children to care for, all had 
been invited and were present at the feast. 

“ It was poverty, advancing its troops against the 
English signorina. Who indeed has such an army 
as poverty ? But for once the English signorina 
could conquer him. 

“ She had also something to fight with and to 
conquer with. She had the whole market-place full 
of tables amply provided with all sorts of good 
things. She had barrels of wine laid up the whole 
length of the stone-bench which ran along the 
cathedral wall. She had transformed the whole 
extinct convent into a dining-table and kitchen. 
She had the whole colony of strangers in Dia- 
mante, dressed in white aprons, distributing the 
courses. She had the Diamante who were wont to 
eat their fill, sauntering back and forth as spectators. 

“ Ah, spectators, who indeed were not her specta- 
tors ! She had the mighty Etna, and the glittering 
sun. She had the rosy inland mountains and the 
ancient temple of Vulcan now consecrated to San 
Pasquale. And none of these had ever beheld Dia- 
mante satiated. It had never occurred to them 
until now how much would be added to their own 
beauty if, in beholding them, hunger did not hiss in 
one’s ears and tread on one’s heels. 

“ Remarkable and great as this signorina was, 
beauty she did not possess. And, in spite of all her 
power, she was not pleasing or charming. She gov- 
erned not with jest nor did she reward with smiles. 


200 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


She had a heavy, inactive body, and she had a heavy 
and inactive temperament. 

“ This day when she gave food to the poor, she 
seemed quite like a different being. A chivalrous 
people inhabit our noble isle. Among all these 
poor there was no one who made her feel that she 
practised charity. They worshiped her, but it was 
as woman they worshiped her. They sat down to 
dine as though it were with an equal. They treated 
her as a hostess is treated by her guests. To-day 
I do you the honor of coming to you, to-morrow 
you do me the honor of coming to me. 

“ She stood on the high steps of the court-house 
and looked down over the tables. And when the 
old chair-maker, who sat at the head of the table, 
had had his glass filled, he rose, bowed to her and 
said: ‘ I drink to your welfare, signorina.’ 

“ And thus they all did. They laid the hand on the 
heart, and bowed to her. It had perhaps been well 
for her if she had met with so much chivalry earlier 
in life. Why had the men in her native land suffered 
her to forget that women are made to adore ? 

“ Here all looked as though they burned with 
gentle adoration. Thus the women on our noble 
isle are treated. What did they not give in re- 
turn for the food and wine she bestowed. They 
gave youth and a light heart, and all the honor of 
being enviable. They made speeches to her. 
4 Magnanimous signorina, you who have come to us 
from over the sea, you who love Sicily/ and so 
forth and so forth. She showed that she could blush. 
She no longer concealed that she had a smile. 
When they had finished speaking, the lips of the 


PANEM ET CIRCENSIS 


201 


English signorina commenced to quiver. She 
became twenty years younger. It was what she 
needed. 

“ There was the donkey-boy, who was wont to con- 
duct the English ladies up to Tre Castagni, and who al- 
ways fell in love with them, before parting with them. 
His eyes were now suddenly opened for the great 
benefactress. It is not a slender, delicate body and 
a soft complexion only that are worthy of adoration, 
but also power and energy. The donkey-boy sud- 
denly dropped knife and fork, rested his elbows on 
the table and remained in that posture looking at 
her. And all the other donkey-boys did likewise. 
It spread like a disease. It became hot round the 
English signorina from burning glances. 

“ It was not the poor alone that worshiped her. 
The advocate, Ugo Favara, came and whispered to 
her that she was come as a providence to his im- 
poverished country and to him. ‘ If I only had 
met such a woman as you before,’ he said. 

“Just fancy an old bird that has sat in his cage 
for many years and become seedy, and has lost all 
luster. And then someone comes and puts every- 
thing to rights and restores the luster. Just fancy 
that, signore ! 

“There was that boy from Naples. He took out 
his mandolin all of a sudden and began to sing. 
You know how he sings, and how he whimpers 
with his enormous mouth, and repeats bad words. 
Oftenest he is like a grinning mask. But have you 
seen that he has an angel in his eyes ? An angel 
that seems to weep over his fall and is full of all 
sorts of mischief. And to-night he was only angel. 


202 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


He lifted his head as if he had been inspired 
by God, and the limp body became buoyant and 
straightened itself up, fired with fresh courage. The 
deathly pale cheeks received color, and he sang so that 
one saw the tones rushing from his lips like fire- 
flies filling the air with gladness. 

“ As night drew near, all marched to the Grecian 
Theater. That was the conclusion of the feast. 
What had she not to offer there ! 

“ She had the Russian singer and the German va- 
riety-artist. She had the English wrestlers and the 
American jugglers. But was that compared to 
everything else, to the silvery moonlight, and to the 
place and to the memories ! It was as though the poor 
had felt themselves as Greeks and propagators of 
culture, as they once more were permitted to stretch 
themselves on the stone benches of their own dear 
theater, and, between the crumbling pillars of the 
scene to gaze out upon the grandest of panoramas. 
The poor were not parsimonious, they shared all the 
happiness bestowed upon them. They were not 
sparing of exultation, their applause was without 
limit. They who appeared on the platform de- 
scended from it with a wealth of praise. 

“ Someone exhorted the English signorina to ap- 
pear on the scene. Was not all this homage intended 
for her ? She ought to stand face to face with it 
and feel it. And they told her how it intoxicated, 
how it lifted, how it animated. 

“ The proposal pleased her. She agreed to it im- 
mediately. She had sung in her youth, and the 
English are such that they never fear to sing. She 
would not have done it otherwise, but now she was 


THE ANCIENT MARTYRDOM 


219 


never do to shorten the princess’s silk trains and 
be sparing of the gilt on the kingly crowns, at the 
moment when people are losing interest in going to 
the theater. 

Perhaps it is not so hazardous at another theater, 
but at a marionette-theater it is more than precarious 
to make changes. And the reason for this is, that 
for the most part it is half-grown boys that patron- 
ize the marionette theater. Grown-up people can 
understand that at times it is necessary to be saving ; 
children, however, always want to have things the 
same way. 

Don Antonio’s spectators grew less and less in 
number, and he continued to be more and more sav- 
ing. So it occurred to him that he could dispense 
with the two blind violinists, Father Elia and Brother 
Tommaso, who always used to play during the en- 
tre-acts and during battle-scenes. 

These blind men, whose profits from singing in 
houses of mourning were considerable, and who took 
in large sums during feast-days, were too expensive 
to keep. Don Antonio dismissed them and procured 
a hand-organ. 

But that became his ruin. All apprentices and 
shop-boys in Diamante ceased going to the theater. 
They were not going to sit and listen to a hand- 
organ. They promised each other not to go to the 
theater again until Don Antonio had taken back 
the violinists. And they kept their promise. Don 
Antonio’s puppets played before empty walls. 

These young boys, who otherwise rather gave up 
their supper than the theater, stopped going evening 
after evening. They felt convinced that eventually 


220 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


they would compel Don Antonio to arrange every- 
thing as before. 

But Don Antonio belonged to a family of artists. 
His father and his brother owned marionette-thea- 
ters, his brothers-in-law, all his relatives were spe- 
cialists. And Don Antonio understands his art. He 
can change his voice infinitely, he can at the same 
time maneuver a whole army of dolls, and he knows 
by heart the text to whole cycles of plays founded on 
the chronicles of Carolus Magnus. 

And Don Antonio’s artist-soul became wounded. 
He would not be prevailed upon to take back the blind 
players. He wanted people to come to his theater 
for his sake, and not on account of the musicians. 

He changed, and began to give grand plays showily 
mounted. But it was in vain. 

There is a play called “ The Knight Errant’s 
Death ” which treats of Roland’s struggle with 
Ronceval. It requires such an elaborate mechanism 
that a marionette-theater has to be kept closed two 
days in order to properly arrange it. The people are 
so fond of it that double the usual prices could be 
charged and still full houses be secured for at least a 
whole month. Don Antonio now brought out this 
play, but he did not need to give it, he had no spec- 
tators. 

After this Don Antonio was broken-hearted. He 
tried to get back Father Elia, and Brother Tommaso, 
but these, knowing now what they were worth to 
him, asked such prices that it would have been ruin 
to pay them. It was impossible to come to any 
agreement. 

In the little dwelling back of the marionette-thea- 


THE ANCIENT MARTYRDOM 


221 


ter one lived as in a besieged fortress. There was 
nothing else to do but starve. 

Donna Emilia and Don Antonio were both young 
and happy people. Now, however, they laughed no 
more. It was not so much want that affected them, 
but Don Antonio was a proud man, and he could 
not bear the thought that his art could no longer 
draw spectators. 

Then, as has been said, Donna Emilia went down 
to San Pasquale’s church to ask the saint for advice. 
It had been her intention to repeat nine prayers to 
the large stone image which stood outside the church, 
and then depart, but before she had commenced to 
pray she had noticed that the church-door stood 
open. “ Why is the door of San Pasquale’s church, 
open ? That has never happened in my days,” said 
Donna Emilia. And she entered the church. 

Nothing was to be seen there, but Fra Felice’s be- 
loved image and the large box for offerings. And 
the image was so beautiful in its crown and its rings, 
that Donna Emilia was tempted to approach quite 
close to it. And gazing into its eyes, it seemed to 
her so sweet and comforting that she knelt down be- 
fore it and prayed. And she promised that if it 
would help her and Don Antonio in their need, she 
would deposit the whole income of one evening in 
the large box hanging beside it. 

Her prayer ended, Donna Emilia hid herself be- 
hind the church door and tried to catch what the 
passers-by were saying. Because, if the image was 
willing to help her, it would now let her hear a word 
which would tell her what she must do. 

She had not remained there two minutes before 


222 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


old Assunta from the cathedral steps passed by, in 
company with Donna Pepa and Donna Tura. And 
she heard Assunta, in her solemn voice, say : “ It 

was the year that I heard * The Ancient Martyrdom ’ 
for the first time.” Donna Emilia heard this quite 
distinctly. Assunta actually said “The Ancient 
Martyrdom.” 

To Donna Emilia it seemed as though she would 
never reach home, as though her limbs were unable 
to carry her fast enough. It seemed as though the 
road had become much longer. When at length she 
saw the theater, with its red lanterns under the roof 
and the large ornate bills, it was as though she had 
walked many miles. 

As she entered, Don Antonio sat with his great 
head resting in his hands and staring straight at the 
table. It was pitiful to look at Don Antonio. Dur- 
ing these last weeks he had commenced to lose his 
hair. On the top of his head it was so thin that the 
scalp shone through. But that was not strange when 
it was considered what troubles had come upon him. 
While Donna Emilia had been away, he had taken 
out all his dolls and examined them. He did that 
every day now. He would sit looking at the doll 
who played Armida. Was she then no longer beau- 
tiful and alluring? he would ask. And he tried to 
furbish up Roland’s sword or Charles the Great’s 
crown. Donna Emilia saw that he had again gilded 
the emperor’s crown. That was for the fifth time at 
least. He had, however, ceased in the middle of his 
work and sat down to brood. He had himself 
become aware of it. It was not gilt that he lacked, 
it was an idea. 


THE ANCIENT MARTYRDOM 223 

As Donna Emilia entered the room, she stretched 
forth her hands toward her husband. 

“ Look at me, Don Antonio Greco," she said, “ I 
carry in my hands golden vessels full of royal figs ! " 

And she related how she had prayed, and what she 
had promised, and what she had been advised. 

As she said this to Don Antonio he sprang from 
the chair. His arms dropped stiff at his sides, and 
his hair rose on his head. He was greatly terrified. 
“ The Ancient Martyrdom," he exclaimed. “ The 
Ancient Martyrdom ! " 

For “ The Ancient Martyrdom " is a mystery, which 
in its day was played all over Sicily. It supplanted 
all other oratorios and mysteries, and was played 
every year, in ever city, for several hundred years. 
It was the greatest day of the year when “ The An- 
cient Martyrdom " was given. Now, however, it is 
no longer played, and the people remember it only as 
a myth. 

In past days it was even played at the marionette- 
theater, but now it is considered too old-fashioned, 
and has probably not been played for thirty years. 

Don Antonio began to shout and yell at Donna 
Emilia because she tormented him with such absur- 
dities. He struggled against her, as against a demon 
who had come to seize upon him. “ It was amaz- 
ing, it was heart-rending," he said. But Donna 
Emilia remained calm and let him rave. She only 
said that what she had heard was the will of God. 

Don Antonio began to waver. The grand idea 
gradually gained supremacy over him. Nothing had 
been so loved and played in Sicily as that. And 
dwelt there not constantly the same people on that 


224 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

noble isle? Loved they not the same earth, the 
same mountains, the same sky as their forefathers 
had loved ? Why should they not also be able to 
love The Ancient Martyrdom ? ” 

He opposed it as long as he could. He said to 
Donna Emilia that it would be too costly. Where 
should he get apostles with long hair and beard ? He 
had no table for the Lord’s Supper, he had no ma- 
chinery necessary for the entry and the carrying of 
the cross. 

Donna Emilia, however, saw that he would give 
in, and before evening he actually went to Fra Fe- 
lice and renewed his wife’s promise to place the earn- 
ings of one evening in the little image’s alms box, if 
this proved to be good advice. 

Fra Felice told Donna Micaela about the promise, 
and she felt pleased, and at the same time anxious 
about how this would turn out. 

Round about the city it became known that Don 
Antonio was setting up “ The Ancient Martyrdom,” 
and people laughed at him. Don Antonio had lost 
his senses. 

To be sure they would have liked to see “ The 
Ancient Martyrdom ” if they could see it played as 
in former days. They would have liked to see it 
played as in Aci, when the nobles of the city person- 
ated kings and mercenaries, and tradesmen appeared 
in the characters of Jews and apostles, and when so 
many scenes from the Old Testament were added, 
that the play lasted a whole day. 

They would also have liked to experience once 
more those glorious days in Castelbuoco, when the 
whole city was transformed into a Jerusalem. There 


THE ANCIENT MARTYRDOM 22 |j 

the play was given in such a way that Jesus came 
riding into the city and was met at the city gate by 
people carrying palms. There the church represen- 
ted the temple of Jerusalem and the court-house 
Pilate’s palace. There Peter warmed himself at a 
fire in the rectory yard, the crucifixion took place 
on a mountain above the city, and Mary sought the 
body of her Son in the grottos of the Syndic’s 
garden. 

When they remembered such things, how could 
they be satisfied with seeing “ The Ancient Martyr- 
dom ” at Don Antonio’s theater? 

But in spite of all this Don Antonio worked with 
the greatest zeal in making actors, and arranging 
the great machinery. 

And behold, after a few days, Battista, who painted 
signs, came and presented him with an advertise- 
ment. It had pleased him to hear that Don An- 
tonio intended to play “ The Ancient Martyrdom.” 
He had seen it in his youth, and it had afforded him 
much joy. 

Accordingly, at the corner of the theater could now 
be read, in great letters : “ The Ancient Martyr- 
dom, or Adam Resurrected, tragedy in three acts, by 
Cavaliere Filippo Orioles.” 

Don Antonio wondered and wondered what the 
public mind would be. But donkey boys and appren- 
tices, passing by his theater, read the bill with a 
scoffing laugh. Don Antonio’s prospects were by no 
means bright, nevertheless he still continued to work 
faithfully. 

When the appointed evening came, and “ The Mar- 
tyrdom ” was about to be given, no one was more 
21 


226 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


anxious than Donna Micaela. (i Will the little im- 
age help me ? ” she was asking herself continually. 

She sent out her maid, Lucia, to spy. Were there 
groups of boys outside the theater? Did it look as 
though there would be any people ? Lucia might 
very well go up to Donna Emilia, who sat at the 
ticket-hole, and inquire of her what the outlook was. 

But when Lucia returned she had no hope what- 
ever to give. There was no crowd outside the theater. 
The boys were determined to crush Don Antonio. 

Towards eight o’clock, Donna Micaela could no 
longer remain at home. She persuaded her father 
to accompany her to the theater. She knew well 
enough that a signora had never set foot inside Don 
Antonio’s theater, but she must see how this would 
come off. It would be such an enormous success for 
her railroad if Don Antonio succeeded. 

When Donna Micaela arrived at the theater, it 
wanted a few minutes of eight. And Donna Emilia 
had not sold a single ticket. 

She was not downcast, however. “ Walk in, Donna 
Micaela!” she said. “We shall play at all events. 
It is so beautiful. Don Antonio will play for you 
and your father and myself. It is the loveliest he 
has ever given.” 

Donna Micaela entered a small auditorium. It 
was draped in mourning just as the great theaters 
always were in former days, when “The Ancient 
Martyrdom ” was played. There were dark silver 
fringed curtains around the scene. And the small 
benches were covered with black cloth. 

Immediately after Donna Micaela had entered, 
Don Antonio’s bushy eyebrows were seen in a little 


THE ANCIENT MARTYRDOM 


227 


hole in the curtain, “ Donna Micaela,” he cried, just 
as Donna Emilia had done before. “ We shall play 
notwithstanding. It is so beautiful. It needs no 
spectators/' 

At that moment Donna Emilia came herself and 
opened the door and, courtesying, held it wide open. 
It was the rector, Don Matteo, that came. 

“ What do you say of me, Donna Micaela ? ” he said 
laughing. u But you understand, it is ‘ The Ancient 
Martyrdom.' I saw it in my youth at the grand 
opera in Palermo, and I believe it was that old play 
that made me a priest.” 

The next time the door opened, it was Father Elia 
and Brother Tommaso, who entered with their vio- 
lins under their arms, groping their way to their ac- 
customed places as calmly as though there had never 
been any wrangling with Don Antonio. 

The door opened again. It was an old woman 
from the alley above the little Moor's house. She 
was dressed in black, and made the sign of the cross 
as she entered. 

After her came four or five old women, and Donna 
Micaela looked quite indignantly at them, as they 
gradually filled the theater. She knew that Don 
Antonio would not be satisfied before he had again 
his own audience, before he had his beloved head- 
strong boys to play for. 

Suddenly she heard a storm or thunder. The doors 
flew wide open, ail rushed in at the same time. It was 
the boys. They took their accustomed places as 
confidently as though they were entering their home. 

They looked at each other, somewhat abashed. 
But it had been impossible for them to see one old 


228 - THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

woman after the other entering their theater and see 
what was being played for them. It had been en- 
tirely impossible to see the whole street full of old 
distaff spinners leisurely wending their way towards 
the theater. And so they had rushed in. 

But hardly had these young people taken their 
places, before they noticed that they were in the pres- 
ence of a disciplinarian. Ah ! “ The Ancient Mar- 
tyrdom,” “ The Ancient Martyrdom ! ” 

It was not given as in Aci and in Castelbuoco. It 
was not played as at the opera in Palermo, it was 
only played by wretched marionettes with immova- 
ble faces and stiff bodies, yet the ancient play had 
not lost its power. 

Donna Micaela noticed it in the second act, during 
the Lord’s Supper. The boys began to hate Judas. 
They showered threats and abuse upon him. 

As the tale of suffering continued, they removed 
their hats and folded their hands. They sat per- 
fectly still, their beautiful brown eyes turned towards 
the stage. Now and then a few tears fell. Now 
and then a hand was clenched in indignation. 

Don Antonio spoke with tears in his voice, Don- 
na Emilia was on her knees in the doorway. Don 
Matteo gazed with a gentle smile at the little dolls, 
and recalled the glorious representation in Palermo, 
which had made him a priest. 

But when Jesus was taken prisoner and tortured, 
the young felt ashamed of themselves. They, too, 
had been capable of hate and persecution. They 
were like those Pharisees and those Romans. It was 
a shame to think of it. They hoped Don Antonio 
would forgive them. 


THE LADY WITH THE IRON RING 


229 


V 

THE LADY WITH THE IRON RING 

Donna Micaela often remembered a poor little 
seamstress, whom she had seen in Catania. She had 
lived in the house beside Palazzo Palmeri, and she 
had always sat in the porch with her work, so that 
Donna Micaela had seen her a thousand times. Sit- 
ting there, it had been her wont to sing, and it seemed 
she had known but one canzonette. Always, always 
she sang the same song. 

“ I have cut off a lock of my dark hair,” she had 
sung. “ I have unloosed my glossy black braid, and 
cut off a lock of my hair. I have done it to gladden 
my friend, who is sad. Ah, my beloved is in prison, 
my beloved will never more wind my hair round his 
fingers. I have sent him a lock of my hair to re- 
mind him of those soft fetters, which will encircle 
him no more.” 

Donna Micaela remembered that song well. It 
was as if it had echoed through her whole childhood, 
betokening all the suffering that awaited her. 

Donna Micaela often sat on the stone steps of San 
Pasquale’s church. She would then see marvelous 
events taking place over yonder on the wonderland 
Etna. 


230 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

Over the black lava fields a railroad train came 
gliding along on newly laid shining rails. It was 
a festal train. There were flags along the whole 
road, there were wreaths on the cars, the seats were 
covered with purple cushions. At every station 
people stood and cried in exultation : “ Long live the 
king, long live the queen, long live the new railroad ! ’ 

She heard it distinctly, for she too was on the 
train. Ah, how honored, how honored she was ! She 
was called into the presence of the king and queen, 
and they thanked her for the new railroad. “ Request 
a favor of us, princess,” said the king giving her 
the title, which the ladies of the Alagona race had 
borne in days of old. 

“ Sire,” she answered, as one answers in fairy tales, 
“ grant freedom to the last Alagona ! ” 

And it was vouchsafed her. The king could not 
say no to a prayer from her, who had built that ex- 
cellent railroad, which would enrich all Etna. 

When Donna Micaela lifted her arm, so that the 
sleeve of her dress glided back, it was noticed that she 
wore as a bracelet, a ring of rusty iron. She had 
found it on the street, forced it over her hand, and 
wore it now always. As soon as she saw it or touched 
it she grew pale, and her eyes no longer saw anything 
of the world around her. She saw only a prison, such 
as Foscari’s in the doge’s palace at Venice. It was a 
dark, narrow cell, light filtered in through a grated 
aperture, and from the wall hung a large bunch of 
chains encircling the prisoner’s legs, arms and neck 
like snakes. 

May saints perform miracles ! May people toil ! 


THE LADY WITH THE IRON RING 


23I 


May she herself gain such honor that she may be able 
to beg freedom for her prisoner ! He will die, if she 
does not make haste. May the iron ring constantly 
gnaw at her arm, so that she may not for a moment 
forget him. 


232 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


VI 

FRA FELICE’S TESTAMENT 

As Donna Emilia opened the ticket-hole to sell 
tickets for the second performance of “ The Ancient 
Martyrdom,” the people were standing in line to get 
places; the following evening the theater was so 
crowded that people fainted in the crush, and the 
third evening people came both from Adernd and 
Paternd to see the beloved tragedy. Don Antonio 
foresaw that he could play it for a whole month for 
double the usual prices, and with two representations 
every evening. 

How happy they were, he and Donna Emilia, and 
with what joy and gratefulness they put twenty-five 
lire into the little image’s box ! 

In Diamante this event aroused a good deal of as- 
tonishment, and many people came to Donna Elisa 
to learn if she believed that the saints wished that 
they should aid Donna Micaela. 

“ Have you heard, Donna Elisa,” they would say, 
“ that Don Antonio Greco has been helped by the 
Christ-child at San Pasquale’s, because he had promised 
to give the income of one evening to Donna Micaela’s 
railroad ? ” 

But when asked about this, Donna Elisa pressed 
her lips together and looked as though she could think 
of nothing but her embroidery. 


FRA FELICE’S TESTAMENT 


233 

Even Fra Felice came in and told her about the 
two miracles the image had already performed. 

“Signorina Tottenham was very stupid to give 
up the image, it being such a miracle-worker,” said 
Donna Elisa. 

And so it seemed to all. Had not Signorina Tot- 
tenham owned the image many years, and she had 
never noticed anything. It was no miracle-worker. 
That was only a coincidence. 

It was unfortunate, that Donna Elisa would not be- 
lieve. She was the only one of the ancient Alagona 
family now left in Diamante. The people were in- 
fluenced by her more than they themselves were 
aware of. Had Donna Elisa believed, the whole city 
would have helped Donna Micaela. 

But the drawback was that Donna Elisa could not 
believe that God and the saints were willing to aid 
her sister-in-law. 

She had watched her ever since the festival of San 
Sebastiano. As soon as any one spoke of Gaetano, 
she grew pale and appeared quite wretched. Her 
face became as a transgressor’s, when his heart is torn 
with remorse. 

Donna Elisa sat thinking of this one morning, and 
she was so absorbed that she suffered the needle to 
drop. “ Donna Micaela is no Etna woman,” she said 
to herself. “ She sides with the rulers, she is glad 
that Gaetano is in prison.” 

Out on the street some men came just then, carry- 
ing a litter. On it lay piled up a lot of church dec- 
orations. There were chandeliers and tabernacles 
and reliquaries. Donna Elisa glanced up for a mo- 
ment, then went back to her own thoughts. 


234 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


“ She would not allow me to decorate the Alagona 
house for the feast of San Sebastiano,” she thought. 
“ She did not wish the saint should help Gaetano.” 

Two men now came dragging along a rattling hand- 
cart. On it lay a whole mountain of red hangings, 
richly embroidered antependier and altar-pieces in 
broad gilt frames. 

Donna Elisa struck out with her hand as though 
dispelling all doubts. What had happened could not 
be a real miracle. The saints were well aware that 
Diamante could not afford to build a railroad. 

Now a yellow van passed by, packed with music 
stands, missals, hassocks and confessionals. 

Donna Elisa awoke. She looked out between the 
rosaries, hanging in festoons across the window pane. 

Why that was the third load of church things. 
Was Diamante being plundered ? Had the Saracens 
come to the city ? 

She took up her position in the doorway, that she 
might see better. Again came a litter, and on it lay 
mourning wreaths of sheet-iron, grave-slabs with long 
inscriptions and escutcheons, such as are hung up in 
the churches in memory of the dead. 

Donna Elisa questioned the bearers, and was in- 
formed as to what was being done. The church of 
Santa Lucia in Gesu was being evacuated. The Syn- 
dic and the city-junta had ordered that it should be 
transformed into a theater. 

After the insurrection, a new syndic was installed 
in Diamante. He was a young man from Rome. 
He did not know the city, but nevertheless was 
glad to do something for it. He had proposed, at 
the city-junta, that Diamante should provide itself 


FRA FELICE’S TESTAMENT 235 

with a new theater in the same way as Taormina and 
other cities. This could be done by simply convert- 
ing one of the churches into a play-house. Surely 
Diamante had more than enough with five city- 
churches and seven monastery churches, it could 
very well afford to spare one of them. 

Now there was Santa Lucia in Gesii, the church 
of the Jesuits. The monastery surrounding it was 
already turned into barracks, and the church was as 
good as deserted. That would make such an excel- 
lent theater. 

This the new syndic had proposed, and the city- 
junta had agreed to. 

When Donna Elisa heard what was taking place, 
she threw over her her mantilla and veil, and hast- 
ened to the Lucia church as speedily as though she 
were hastening to the house of one dying. 

“ What will become of the blind ? ” thought Donna 
Elisa. “ How will they be able to live without 
Santa Lucia in Gesu ? ” 

As Donna Elisa came to the little, quiet court, 
around which the Jesuits’ long, unhandsome monas- 
tery buildings are erected, she saw, on the broad 
stone step which runs along the whole front of the 
church, a row of ragged children and shaggy dogs. 
All these were guides of the blind, and they cried 
and whined, with all their might. 

“ What is the matter with you all ? ” asked Donna 
Elisa. 

“They wish to take our church away from 
us,” wailed the children, whereupon all the dogs 
howled more pitifully than before, for blind people’s 
dogs are almost like human beings. 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


236 

At the church door Donna Elisa met Master Pam- 
pilio’s wife, Donna Concetta. “Ah, Donna Elisa,” 
she said, “ never in all your life have you seen any-' 
thing so terrible. You’ll do best not to go in.” 

But Donna Elisa passed on. 

In the church she first saw nothing but a white 
cloud of dust. The strokes of hammers, however, 
echoed through the cloud, for some laborers were 
pulling down an immense stone knight resting in one 
of the window niches. 

“ O Lord,” said Donna Elisa folding her hands, 
“ they are tearing down Sor Arrigo ! ” And she 
thought of how peacefully he had lain there in his 
niche. Every time she had seen him, she had wished 
that she could be so separated from troubles and 
changeability as old Sor Arrigo. „ 

In the Lucia church there was still a large sepul- 
chral monument. It represented an old Jesuit reclin- 
ing on a black marble sarcophagus, with scourge in 
hand, and the cowl drawn far down over the fore- 
head. He was called Father Succi, and it was cus- 
tomary to frighten the children in Diamante with 
him. 

Donna Elisa wondered if they would dare to touch 
Father Succi also. And she groped her way 
through the lime dust up to the chancel where stood 
the sarcophagus, to see if they had dared to move 
the old Jesuit. 

But Father Succi still lay on his bed of stone. He 
lay there, dark and stern as he had been in life, and 
it might almost be believed that he was still alive. 
Had the doctor been there and a table with medicine 
bottles and burning candles beside the bed, one 


FRA FELICE’S TESTAMENT 237 

might have thought that Father Succi lay ill in the 
chancel of his church, awaiting his last hour. 

The blind sat round him, rocking their bodies to 
and fro in silent grief. There were the two women 
from the hotel, Donna Pepa and Donna Tura, there 
was old mother Saredda, who ate the bread of 
charity at the house of Syndic Voltaro, there were 
blind beggars and blind singers, blind of all ages and 
conditions. All the blind of Diamante were there, 
and in Diamante there are a great many who will 
never more behold the sunlight. 

All these sat for the most part silent, but now and 
then one of them would burst out into a heart-rend- 
ing cry. Now one, now another, would grope his 
way to the monk, Father Succi, and throw himself, 
loudly weeping, upon him. 

And the rector and Father Rossi from the Fran- 
ciscan monastery went about seeking to comfort the 
distressed, making it seem still more like a death- 
bed. 

Donna Elisa became deeply affected. Ah, how 
often had she not seen these people happy in their 
court, and to think that she now should find them in 
such dire misery ! They had drawn tears from her 
eyes when they sang dirges over her husband, Sig- 
nor Antonelli, and over her brother, Don Ferrante. 

Old Mother Saredda began speaking with Donna 
Elisa. 

“ I knew of nothing, when I came, Donna Elisa,” 
said the old woman. “ I left my dog outside on the 
step and entered through the church door. I 
stretched out my arm to push aside the portiere ! 
but the portiere was gone. I put my foot down, as 


238 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

though there were steps to tread upon below the 
threshold, but there was no step. I stretched forth 
my hand to take holy water, I knelt in passing the 
high altar, and I listened to hear the little bell, which 
used to ring when Father Rossi cofties to mass. 
Donna Elisa, there was no holy water, no altar, no 
bell-ringing, there was nothing.’' 

“ Poor thing, poor thing,” said Donna Elisa. 

“ I then heard hammering and knocking up in one 
of the windows. ‘What are you doing to Sor Ar- 
rigo ? ’ I cry, for I hear immediately that it is in Sor 
Arrigo’s window. 

“ ‘ We are taking him away,’ they reply. 

“Just then, however, the rector Don Matteo 
comes, takes me by the hand, and explains every- 
thing to me. And I almost become angry with the 
rector when he tells me that it is for a theater. 
They need our church for a theater ! 

“‘Where is Father Sued?’ I ask. ‘ Is Father 
Succi still left ? ’ And he leads me to Father Succi. 
He is obliged to lead me, for I cannot find the way. 
Since they have taken away all the chairs and has- 
socks and rugs and platforms and loose steps, I can- 
not find the way. Before I found my way here as 
easily as you.” 

“ The rector will provide you with another church,” 
said Donna Elisa. — “ Donna Elisa,” said the old 
woman, “ what is it you say ? You might as well 
say, that the rector can give us our sight. Can Don 
Matteo give us a church where we see, as we could 
see in this ? Over there, Donna Elisa, stood an altar, 
the flowers on it were as red as Etna at sunset, and 
we saw it. We counted sixteen wax-lights over the 


fra Felice’s testament 239 

high altar on Sundays, and thirty during feast-days. 
We could see Father Rossi when he said mass here. 
What shall we do in another church, Donna Elisa? 
We cannot see at all there. They have extinguished 
the light of our eyes anew.” 

Donna Elisa’s heart became as warm as if molten 
lava had flowed across it. Surely this was a great 
wrong inflicted upon these blind. 

Donna Elisa went to Don Matteo. 

“ Reverence,” she said, “ have you spoken to the 
syndic ? ” 

“ Ah, Donna Elisa,” said Don Matteo, “ it is 
better that you speak with him than I.” 

“ Reverence, the syndic is a stranger. He may, 
perhaps, not have heard about the blind.” 

“ Signor Voltaro has been to him, Father Rossi has 
been to him, and even I, even I. All the answer he 
gave was, that he could not alter what had been 
decided by the city-junta. You know very well, 
Donna Elisa, that the city-junta can retract nothing. 
If it has decided that your cat shall say mass at the 
cathedral, it cannot change it.” 

Suddenly there arose a great commotion in the 
church. A tall, blind man entered. “ Father Elia,” 
was the whisper, “ Father Elia.” 

Father Elia was alderman for the blind singers’ 
guild, which used to assemble here. He had long 
white hair and beard, and was as beautiful as one of 
the holy patriarchs. 

Like all the rest he, too, went forward to Father 
Succi. He sat down beside him, leaning his head 
against the coffin. 

Donna Elisa went up to Father Elia and spoke to 


246 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

him. “ Father Elia,” she said, “ you ought to go 
to the syndic.” 

“ Think you I have waited for you to tell me that ? 
Don’t you know that my first thought was to go to 
the syndic ? ” He spoke sternly and distinctly, so that 
the laborers ceased hammering, and listened, think- 
ing that some one had commenced to preach. 

“ I have told him that we blind singers form a 
guild, and that the Jesuits opened their church for 
us three hundred years ago and gave us the right to 
assemble here to choose new members, and hear new 
songs. 

“ And I told him that we were thirty in the guild 
and that the holy Lucia is our patron saint ; that we 
never sing on the streets, but only in courtyards 
and indoors, and that we sing saintly legends and 
also dirges, but never a flippant song, and that the 
Jesuit, Father Succi, opened the church to us for 
the reason that the blind are Our Lord’s singers. 

“ I told him that some of us are recitatori, who 
can recite the ancient songs, and others are trova- 
tori, who invent new ones. I told him that we 
gladden many on this noble isle. I asked him why 
he would not suffer us to live. For the homeless 
one must perish. 

“ I told him that it is our custom to wander from 
city to city all over the great Etna, but the Lucia- 
church, ijn Diamante, is our home, and here mass is 
said for us every morning. Why did he wish to 
deny us the comfort of the Word of God ? 

“ I told him that once the Jesuits changed their 
mood toward us, and wanted to drive -us away from 
their church, but they did not succeed. We received 


FRA FELICE’S TESTAMENT 


24I 


a letter from the Viceroy entitling us to hold our 
meetings in Santa Lucia in Gesu for all time. And 
I showed him the letter.” 

“ What did he answer then ? ” 

“He laughed at me.” 

“ Can none of the other gentlemen help you ? ” 

“ I have been to them, Donna Elisa. The whole 
morning I have been sent from Herodes to Pilatus.” 

“ Father Elia,” said Donna Elisa, lowering her 
voice, “ have you forgotten to implore the saints ? ” 

“I have implored both the black Madonna and t 
San Sebastiano, and Santa Lucia. I have prayed to 
as many as I was able to mention by name.” 

“ Do you believe, Father Elia,” said Donna Elisa, 
lowering her voice still more, “that Don Antonio 
Greco received aid because he promised money for 
Donna Micaela’s railroad ? ” 

“ I have no money to give,” said the old man dis- 
consolately. 

“You ought, nevertheless, to think of it, Father 
Elia,” said Donna Elisa, since you are in such sore dis- 
tress. 

“You ought to try and promise the Christ-child 
that you yourself, and all belonging to your guild, 
will speak and sing about the railroad and persuade 
people to contribute to it, if you are allowed to keep 
your church. 

“ We don’t know if it avails, yet you ought to try 
everything, Father Elia. To promise costs nothing.” 

“ I will promise anything for your sake,” said the 
old man. 

Again he leaned his blind head against the black 
coffin, and Donna Elisa understood that he had 
11 


242 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

made the promise in order that he might be left 
alone with his sorrow. 

“Shall I repeat your promise to the Christ- 
image ?” she said. 

“ Do as you please, Donna Elisa," said the old man. 

That same day, old Fra Felice had risen at about 
five o’clock in the morning and begun to sweep his 
church. He felt perfectly strong and well, but all 
at once it seemed to him as if San Pasquale with the 
bag of stones, who sat outside the church-door, must 
have something to say to him. He went out to 
him. Nothing, however, was the matter with San 
Pasquale. Just then the sun rose behind Etna and 
down the dark side of the mountain streamed its 
rays, variegated as harp strings. When the rays 
reached old Fra Felice’s old church, they tinted it red, 
the old barbaric pillars supporting the canopy over 
the image, and San Pasquale with the bag of stones, 
and even Fra Felice himself, became rosy red. “We 
look like young boys,” thought the old man. “ We 
have still a long series of years to live.” 

But as he was about to go back into the church, 
he felt a severe pressure above the heart, and it oc- 
curred to him that San Pasquale had called him out 
to bid him farewell. At the same time his limbs 
grew so heavy that he could scarcely move them. 
He felt no pain, but a weariness which could signify 
nothing but death. He was barely able to put away 
the dust brush behind the door of the sacristy ; he 
then dragged himself up to the chancel, laid himself 
down on the platform in front of the high altar and 
wrapped his gown about him. 


fra Felice’s testament 243 

It was as if the image of Christ had nodded to him 
and said : “ Now I need thee, Fra Felice.” He lay 
there nodding back. “ I am ready. I shall not for- 
sake thee.” 

It was only to lie and wait, and to Fra Felice that 
seemed delightful. He had never before, during his 
whole life, had time to feel how tired he was. Now 
at last he could rest. The image would no doubt 
maintain the church and the monastery without him. 

He lay there smiling at the thought of San Pas- 
quale having called him out to say good morning to 
him. 

Thus lay Fra Felice, until the day was far advanced, 
dozing most of the time. No one was with him, and 
he began to feel that it would never do to steal out 
of the world thus. It was as if he were defrauding 
some one of something. That woke him again and 
again. He certainly ought to have the priests, but 
how should he get word to them. 

While he lay there, it seemed to him that he 
dwindled together more and more. Each time he 
woke it seemed to him that he had grown smaller. 
It was as if he were vanishing entirely. He certainly 
could wind the gown around him four times now. 

He probably would have had to die quite alone, 
if Donna Elisa had not come to implore the little 
image to help the blind. She was in a peculiar 
frame of mind when she came, for she was anxious 
to obtain succor for the blind ; still she did not wish 
that Donna Micaela’s project should be furthered. 

As she entered the church, she saw Fra Felice lying 
on the platform below the altar, and she went for- 
ward and knelt beside him. 


244 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


Fra Felice turned his eyes towards her and smiled : 
“ I shall die/’ he said hoarsely, but correcting him- 
self he said : “ I am permitted to die.” 

Donna Elisa asked what the matter was, and said 
she would get help. 

“ Sit down here,” he said, and made a feeble at- 
tempt to wipe off the dust on the platform with his 
sleeve. 

Donna Elisa said she would fetch priests and 
sisters of charity. He seized her skirt and detained 
her. 

“ I wish to speak with you first, Donna Elisa.” 

He spoke with difficulty, gasping for breath be- 
tween each word. Donna Elisa seated herself be- 
side him and waited. 

He lay panting for a while, then a blush spread 
over his face, his eyes began to beam, and he spoke 
with ease and fervor. 

“ Donna Elisa,” said Fra Felice, “ I have an in- 
heritance to give away. It has troubled me all day. 
I know not to whom I shall give it.” 

“Fra Felice,” said Donna Elisa, “do not trouble 
yourself about such things. There is no one to 
whom a gift is not welcome.” 

But as Fra Felice was feeling a little stronger now, 
he wished before deciding about the inheritance, to 
tell Donna Elisa how good God had been to him. 

“ Has not the Lord been gracious to me, who has 
made me a polacco f ” he said. 

“ Yes, that indeed is a great gift,” said Donna Elisa. 

“ Only to be an insignificant polacco is a great 
gift,” said Fra Felice, “ it is particularly useful, since 
the monastery has been dissolved, and the brothers 


fra felice’s testament 


245 


are away, or dead. It keeps the knapsack full of 
bread, without begging for it. It brings smiling 
faces and reverent greetings. I know of no greater 
gift for a poor monk, Donna Elisa.” 

Donna Elisa thought of how venerated and loved 
Fra Felice had been, because he had been able to pre- 
dict the number which would come out at the lottery. 
And Donna Elisa could not but agree with him. 

“ If I came wandering along the road in the hot 
sun,’’ said Fra Felice, “ the shepherd would come and 
accompany me long distances, holding his umbrella 
over me. And when I came down to the laborers in 
the cool quarry, they shared their bread and bean- 
soup with me. I have not been afraid of robbers 
and carabines. The man at the toll-gate has always 
shut his eyes, as I have passed with my bag. It has 
been a good gift, Donna Elisa.” 

“ True, true,” said Donna Elisa. 

“ It has not been a difficult office,” said Fra Felice. 
“ They consulted with me and I answered them, that 
was all. They knew that every word has its number, 
and observing what I said, they played accordingly. 
I do not know how it was done, Donna Elisa, it was 
a gift of God.” 

“ The poor will greatly miss you, Fra Felice,” said 
Donna Elisa. 

Fra Felice smiled : “ They did not trouble them- 
selves about me Sunday and Monday when the draw- 
ing of lots had lately taken place,” he said. “ But 
on Thursday and Friday and on Saturday morning 
they came, since the drawing was every Saturday.” 

Donna Elisa began to feel disturbed, because the 
dying one thought of nothing but that. Suddenly 


246 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

there rose in her memory both this one and that one, 
who had lost at the lottery, and she remembered 
several who had gambled away all they had. She 
wished to lead his thoughts away from this sinful 
lottery affair. 

“ You said you wished to speak about your testa- 
ment, Fra Felice." 

“ It is because I have so many friends, that it is 
difficult for me to know to whom I shall give the in- 
heritance. Shall I give it to those who have baked 
sweet cakes for me, or to those who have offered me 
artichokes, fried in fresh oil ? Or shall I give it to 
the sisters of charity, who nursed me when I was 
ill ? " 

“ Have you much to give away, Fra Felice?" 

“ It will suffice, Donna Elisa, it will suffice." 

Fra Felice seemed again to grow worse : he lay 
silent, breathing heavily. 

“ I should also have liked to give it to all the 
poor wandering monks, who have lost their monas- 
teries," he whispered. 

After reflecting a moment, he said, “ I should also 
have liked to give it to the kind old man in Rome. 
He who watches over us all." 

“Are you so rich, Fra Felice?" said Donna 
Elisa. 

“ It will suffice, Donna Elisa, it will suffice." 

He closed his eyes and rested a while, then he 
said : 

“ I will give it to all, Donna Elisa." 

That thought gave him new strength, a faint blush 
spread over his cheeks, and he raised himself on his 
elbow. 


FRA FELICE’S TESTAMENT 247 

“ Look here, Donna Elisa,” he said, and, thrusting 
his hand within his gown, he drew forth a sealed 
envelope, which he handed her. “ You must go and 
give that to the syndic — to the syndic, in Dia- 
mante.” 

“Here, Donna Elisa,” said Fra Felice, “here are 
the five numbers which win next Saturday. They 
have been revealed to me, and I have written them 
down. And the syndic shall take the figures and 
placard them on the Roman Gate, where everything 
of importance is advertised. And he shall let the 
people know that that is my testament, my gift to 
all. Five winning numbers, a whole quintus, Donna 
Elisa!” 

Donna Elisa took the envelope and promised to 
give it to the syndic. She could not refuse, for Fra 
Felice had now but a few moments more to live. 

“Now, when Saturday comes,” said Fra Felice, 
“ there are many who will remember Fra Felice. — 
‘I wonder if old Fra Felice will deceive us ? ’ they 
will ask. * 1 wonder if it can be possible, that we 
shall win a whole quintus?’ 

“ On Saturday night the drawing of lots takes 
place on the balcony of the court-house in Catania, 
Donna Elisa. The lottery-wheel and table are car- 
ried out, the lottery agents come, and the sweet 
little orphan. And one number after the other is 
dropped into fortune’s wheel, until all are there, the 
whole hundred. 

“ All the people, however, stand below, trembling 
in expectation, as the ocean trembles beneath the 
tempest. All the people from Diamante will be 
there, and they will stand quite pale and scarcely 


248 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

dare to look each other in the face. Before they 
have believed, but not now. Now they think that 
old Fra Felice has deceived them. No one dares 
entertain the least hope. 

“ Then the first number is drawn, and that is 
right. Ah, Donna Elisa, they will be so amazed 
that they almost forget to break out into exultation. 
Because they have all expected to be disappointed. 
When the second figure is drawn there is a dead 
silence. Then comes the third. The lottery gentle- 
men will be astonished that all are so quiet. * To- 
day they win nothing,’ they will say. ‘ To-day the 
state will reap a good profit.’ The fourth number 
is drawn. The little orphan takes up the roll out of 
the wheel, and the marker opens the roll and shows 
the number. Down among the people it is almost 
ghastly, no one is able to say a word, so great is 
their happiness. Then the last figure is drawn. 
Donna Elisa, such shouting and rejoicing, they fall 
sobbing into one another’s arms. They are rich. 
All Diamante is rich ” 

Donna Elisa had held her arm under Fra Felice’s 
head and supported him, while he had gasped out 
all this. Now, all of a sudden, his head dropped 
back. Old Fra Felice was dead. 

While Donna Elisa had been with old Fra Felice, 
many of the people in Diamante had begun to worry 
about the blind. Not exactly the men, for the 
greater part of them were out in the fields working, 
but the women. 

They had come in great numbers to Santa Lucia 
to comfort the blind, and finally, when about four 


FRA FELICE’S TESTAMENT 249 

hundred women had gathered together, it had oc- 
curred to them that they ought to go and speak to 
the syndic. 

They had marched up to the market-place and 
called the syndic. He had stepped out on the court- 
house balcony, and they had solicited for the blind. 

The syndic was a handsome and amiable man. He 
had answered them kindly, but he would not yield. 

He could not repeal what had been decided at the 
city-junta. 

The women, however, were determined that it 
should be repealed, and they remained in the market- 
place. The syndic went back into the court-house, 
but they stood outside, calling and entreating. They 
intended to remain until he had conceded. 

While this was going on, Donna Elisa came to 
deliver Fra Felice’s testament to the syndic. She was 
deeply grieved over all this misery, but at the same 
time she felt a kind of grim satisfaction, because 
she had received no aid from the Christ-child. Was 
not that what she had always believed ? The saints 
were not willing to help Donna Micaela. 

It was a pretty gift indeed, which she had received 
at San Pasquale’s church ! The blind were not 
helped by it, and besides might it not ruin the 
whole city? The little the people still owned would 
now go to the lottery-collector, and then would begin 
an endless borrowing and pawning. 

The syndic received Donna Elisa immediately, and 
was just as calm and courteous as always, in spite of 
the women’s cries outside, the groans of the blind in 
the waiting-room, and a continuous stream of people 
running in and out all day. 


250 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

“ In what can I serve you, Signora Antonelli ? ” he 
said. Donna Elisa gazed around, wondering to whom 
he was speaking. Then she told about the testament. 

The syndic was neither frightened nor astonished. 

“ That is very interesting,” he said, and stretched 
out his hand for the paper. 

But Donna Elisa held the envelope tightly and 
asked, “ Signor Syndic, what do you intend to do 
with it ; do you intend to post it on the Roman 
gate ? ” 

“ Yes, what else can I do, signora. It is a dead 
man’s last will.” 

Donna Elisa would have liked to tell him what a 
terrible testament it was, but she checked herself, 
and began to talk about the blind. 

“ Father Succi, who ordained that the blind should 
be allowed to stay in his church, is also a dead man,” 
she remarked. 

“Signora Antonelli, you too,” said the syndic quite 
gently. “It certainly was a mistake, but why did no 
one tell us that the Lucia church was a refuge for 
the blind. Now since it has once been decided, I 
cannot annul the resolution, I cannot.” 

“ But their rights and letters patent, Signor Syn- 
dic.” 

“ Their rights are no longer valid. They are in force 
for the monastery of the Jesuits, but such a monas- 
tery exists no longer. And tell me, Signora Antonelli, 
what will become of me, were I to yield?” 

“ They will love you, as a benign man.” 

“ Signora, I shall be considered a weak man, and 
every day I shall have four hundred laborers’ wives 
outside the court-house, begging now for one thing, 


FRA FELICE'S TESTAMENT 25 I 

now for another. Why, I have only to hold out one 
day, and to-morrow it will be forgotten.” 

“ To-morrow ! ” said Donna Elisa. “ We shall never 
forget it.” 

The syndic smiled, and Donna Elisa saw that he 
believed he knew the people of Diamante much better 
than she. 

“ You believe that this is matter of special concern 
to them ? ” 

“ I do indeed, Signor Syndic. The syndic laughed. 

“ Give me the envelope, signora.” 

He took it and went out on the balcony. 

He began to speak to the women. “ I wish to tell 
you,” he said, “ that I have just now learned, that old 
Fra Felice is dead, and that he has left you all a testa- 
ment. He has written down five numbers, which, it 
is said, will win at the lottery next Saturday, and these 
he gives to you. No one has yet seen them. They 
lie here in this envelope, and that is still unopened.” 

He was silent a moment, in order that the women 
might have time to think over what he had said. 

“ Instantaneously they commenced to cry : “ The 

numbers, the numbers ! ” The syndic motioned to 
them to be quiet. 

“ Reflect,” he said, “ that Fra Felice could not 
possibly know what numbers will come out next 
Saturday. If you make use of these numbers, you 
may lose. And we can ill afford to become poorer 
than we already are here in Diamante. Therefore I 
beg of you, let me destroy the testament, without 
any one having seen it.” 

“ The numbers,” cried the women, “ out with the 
numbers.” 


252 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

“ If I am allowed to destroy the testament,” said 
the syndic, “ I promise you that the blind shall have 
back their church.” 

It became quiet in the market-place. Donna Elisa, 
who had been sitting in the council-room, rose 
and clutched the back of her chair with both 
hands. 

“ I allow you to choose between the church and 
the numbers,” said the syndic. 

“ O Lord in heaven ! ” sighed Donna Elisa, “ is he 
a devil, who tempts the people in that way ! ” 

“ We have been poor heretofore,” one woman 
cried, “ we can remain poor.” 

“ We shall not choose Barrabas instead of Christ,” 
cried another. 

The syndic took a match-box out of his pocket, lit 
a match and carried it slowly up to the testament. 

The women stood still and saw Fra Felice’s five 
winning numbers destroyed. The church of the 
blind was saved. 

“ It is a miracle,” whispered old Donna Elisa, 
“ they all believe in Fra Felice, and they permit his 
numbers to burn. It is a miracle.” 

Later in the afternoon Donna Elisa sat again in 
her shop at her embroidery frame. She looked old, 
and wasted and broken down. It was not the Don- 
na Elisa one was accustomed to see there, it was a 
poor, old, forsaken woman. 

She drew her needle listlessly out of the cloth, and 
as she put it down again, she was slow and uncertain. 
She had difficulty in preventing the tears from drop- 
ping on the embroidery and ruining it. 


FRA FELICE’S TESTAMENT 


253 


Donna Elisa had a great sorrow. To-day she had 
lost Gaetano forever. There was no longer any 
hope of getting him back. 

The saints had gone over to the opponent’s side. 
They performed miracles in order to help Donna 
Micaela. No one could doubt that it was a miracle 
that had happened. The poor women of Diamante 
could not have stood still while Fra Felice’s num- 
bers were burning, had they not been bound by a 
miracle. 

That the kind saints were helping Donna Micaela, 
who did not like Gaetano, made a poor mortal so old 
and wicked. 

The door-bell jingled violently and Donna Elisa 
rose, from force of habit. It was Donna Micaela 
that came. She was glad, and came forward to Don- 
na Elisa with outstretched hands. But Donna Elisa 
turned away. She could not press her hand. 

Donna Micaela was in ecstasy. “ Ah, Donna Elisa, 
you have helped my railroad. What shall I say ? 
How shall I thank you? ” 

“ You need not thank me, sister-in-law ! ” 

“ Donna Elisa ! ” 

“ If the saints wish to give us a railroad, it must 
be because Diamante needs it, and not because they 
lo veyou” 

Donna Micaela shrunk back. Now at last she 
thought she understood why Donna Elisa was angry 
with her. “ If Gaetano were home,” she said. She 
stood pressing her hand against her heart and groan- 
ing. “If Gaetano were home he would not let you 
treat me so cruelly.” 

“ Gaetano, would not Gaetano 


254 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

“ No, he would not. Even though you are angry 
with me, because I loved Gaetano while my hus- 
band lived, you would not dare to reproach me with 
it were he home.” 

Donna Elisa raised her eyebrows slightly. “ Do 
you think that he could prevail upon me to keep 
silent in regard to such a matter? ’’she said, and her 
voice sounded quite strange. 

“ But, Donna Elisa,” Donna Micaela came close 
up to her and whispered : “ Why, it is impossible, 
quite impossible not to love him. He is beautiful, 
and he conquers me, and I am afraid of him. You 
must let me love him.” 

“ Must I ? ” Donna Elisa looked down, and her 
tone was curt and harsh. 

Donna Micaela was beside herself. “ It is I he 
loves,” she said. “ It is not Giannita, but I. And 
you ought to consider me as a daughter, you ought 
to help me, you ought to be kind to me. And in- 
stead you oppose me. You are cruel to me. You 
do not let me come to you and speak of him. How- 
ever much I long and however much I work, I am not 
allowed to tell you about it.” 

Donna Elisa could hold out no longer. Surely 
Donna Micaela was nothing but a child, young and 
foolish and timid as a bird’s heart. One who needed 
to be mothered and taken care of. She felt she 
must throw her arms about her. 

“ Why I did not know it, you poor stupid child,” 
she said. 


AFTER THE MIRACLE 


255 


VII 

AFTER THE MIRACLE 

The blind singer’s guild had a meeting in the 
Lucia church. Highest up in the chancel behind the 
altar sat thirty blind men in the Jesuit forefather’s 
sculptured stalls. Most of them were poor, most of 
them had the beggar’s bag and staff at his side. 

Great solemnity prevailed among the blind. They 
fully realized the importance of being members of 
that holy guild, of that glorious old academy. 

Below in the church a suppressed noise was heard 
now and then. There sat the leaders of the blind, 
children, dogs and old women, waiting. At times 
the young began frolicking with each other and 
with the dogs, but it was immediately quelled and 
hushed. 

The blind, who were trovatori, stood up one 
after the other and recited new rhymes. 

‘Ye, who dwell on holy Etna,” one of them re- 
cited, “ ye, who live on the mountain of miracles, 
arise, give your queen a new adornment ! She pines 
for two long ribbons to enhance her beauty, two 
long, narrow ribbons of iron to fasten in her mantle. 
Give this to your mistress, and she shall reward 
you with riches, she shall give you gold for iron.” 

“ Countless are the treasures which the mighty one 
will bestow upon them who now befriend her.” 


256 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

“ A gentle miracle-worker has come to us,” said 
another. “ He stands poor, and humble, in the bare 
old church, and his crown is of sheet-iron and his 
diamonds of glass. ‘ Bestow no offerings upon me, 
ye poor ones,’ he says, ‘ build no temples to me, ye 
wretched ones. Your happiness shall be my aim. 
If riches shines from your humble homes, I sparkle 
with precious gems ; if distress flees from the land, 
my feet will be clothed in gold shoes covered with 
pearls.” 

According as one new rhyme after the other was 
recited, it was accepted or rejected. The blind pro- 
ceeded with great rigidity. 

The following day they went forth and began to 
sing the railroad into the hearts of all the Etna 
people. 

After the miracle about Fra Felice’s testament, 
the people began to give gifts to the railroad. 
Donna Micaela had soon collected about one hun- 
dred lire. Then she and Donna Elisa went one day 
to Messina to look at the steam tramway which runs 
between Messina and Pharo. They had no higher 
thoughts. They would be satisfied with a steam 
tramway. 

“ Why need a railroad be so expensive ? ” said 
Donna Elisa. “ Why, it’s just like a common road, 
with two iron rails on it. But it is the engineers 
and fine gentlemen, that make the road so expen- 
sive. Never mind about engineers, Micaela. Let 
our clever road-builders, Giovanni and Carmelo, 
build your railroad.” 

They inspected carefully the steam tramway to 


AFTER THE MIRACLE 


257 


Pharo, and gained all the knowledge they could. 
They measured how far it ought to be between the 
rails, and Donna Micaela drew on a piece of paper 
how the tracks crossed each other at the stations. 
It was not difficult. They felt sure that they would 
be able to get on by themselves. 

That day there seemed to be no obstacles. It 
was not more difficult to build a station than a com- 
mon house, they said. Besides, a couple of stations 
was all that was needed. At most of the stopping 
places a small hood would be sufficient. 

If they only could avoid forming a company, 
taking fine gentlemen into their service, and doing 
such things which cost money, the railroad would no 
doubt be brought about. It would not be expensive. 
Ground it would probably get for nothing. The 
grand gentlemen who owned the land on Etna 
would surely see the benefits they would derive from 
the railroad and allow it to pass free across their 
ground. 

They did not care to have the course laid down 
beforehand. They would start at Diamante, and pro- 
ceed little by little till they reached Catania. Why, 
one had only to begin and lay a little strip each 
day. That was not so very difficult. 

After that journey they commenced to try to 
build the road alone. Don Ferrante had not left 
behind a large inheritance for Donna Micaela. It 
was, however, a good thing, that he had given her a 
large tract of lava-covered waste ground on Etna. 
Here Giovanni and Carmelo began to clear for the 
new railroad. 

When this work began, the railroad builders owned 
12 


258 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


only one hundred lire. But it was the miracle about 
the testament which had filled them with holy 
madness. 

What a railroad it would be, what a railroad it 
would be ! 

Blind singers were share-collectors, and the holy 
image granted concession, and the old shop-keeper, 
Donna Elisa, was engineer. 


A JETTATORE 


259 


VIII 

A JETTATORE 

In Catania there was once a man with the evil 
eye, a jettatore. He was well nigh the most fright- 
ful jettatore that had ever been found in Sicily. As 
soon as he appeared on the street, the people 
hastened to bend their fingers into the protecting 
sign. But most frequently that did not help at all. 
Any one who met him might as well prepare him- 
self for a wretched day. His food would be burned, 
and the precious old jelly-dish broken, or he would 
learn that his banker had suspended payment, and 
that the little note he had written to his friend’s 
wife had got into the wrong hands. 

Usually a jettatore is a tall, gaunt fellow with 
timid eyes and a long nose, which lies and pecks at 
the upper lip. The parrot-nose is the characteristic 
feature of the jettatore. Everything, however, 
changes, nothing occurs permanently. This jetta- 
tore was a little fellow with a nose like a San 
Michale. 

Hence it was that he did a great deal more harm 
than a common jettatore. One is often pricked by 
a rose but rarely burned by a nettle. 

A jettatore ought never to grow up. Only as a 
child is he happy. Then he still has his mother, 
and she never sees the evil eye ; she never understands 


260 the miracles of antichrist 

why she pricks her fingers, every time he approaches 
the sewing-table. She will never feel afraid to kiss 
him. Although she constantly has sickness in the 
house, and the servants leave, and friends withdraw, 
she will never notice anything. 

But after the jettatore has come out into the 
world he is often badly off. First and foremost one 
must of course think of oneself ; one cannot ruin 
one’s whole life by being kind to a jettatore. 

There are many jettatores who are priests. That 
is not strange ; the wolf is pleased if he can tear many 
sheep. They cannot do more harm than if they be- 
come priests. One ought only to know how those 
children fare that they baptize, and the people they 
marry. 

The jettatore here in question became an engineer, 
and wanted to build railroads. He was employed 
by the state to aid in the construction of one of its rail- 
roads. How could the state know that he was a 
jettatore? Ah, what misery, what misery ! As soon 
as he began his service on the line, there was nothing 
but accidents. Earth-slip upon earth-slip in cutting 
through a hillock, break upon break in laying abridge. 
In firing a dynamite cartridge, the workingmen were 
killed by chips of stone flying about. 

The only one who never got hurt was the 
engineer, the jettatore. 

But the wretches who worked under him ! They 
counted their fingers and limbs every evening. 
“ Maybe to-morrow we have lost you,” they would say. 

One informed the general superintendent, one 
notified the minister of state. None of them would 
listen to any complaints. They were too wise and 


A JETTATORE 


261 

learned to believe in the evil eye. The workingmen 
must be more careful. It was their own fault if they 
got into trouble. 

And ballast-cars upset ; the engines exploded. 

One morning it was whispered that the engineer 
was gone. He had vanished ; no one knew what had 
become of him. Had some one stabbed him? No, 
indeed, would any one have dared to stab a jettatore ? 

But he had actually vanished, and no one saw 
anything more of him. 

It was a few years afterwards that Donna Micaela 
began to think of building her railroad. And to 
procure money for it, she wanted to hold a bazar in 
the great Franciscan monastery outside Diamante. 

Out there is a cloister yard surrounded by fine old 
pillars. Under the arcades Donna Micaela arranged 
quaint little shops and lotteries, and tiny places of 
amusement. She hung garlands of Venetian lan- 
terns from pillar to pillar. She piled up great bar- 
rels of Etna wine around the monastery well. 

While Donna Micaela was at work there, she often 
conversed with the little Gandolfo, who had become 
keeper of the monastery after Fra Felice was dead. 

One day she let Gandolfo show her the whole 
monastery. She went all through it, from attic to 
cellar. And as she beheld the countless little cells 
with their grated windows, lime-plastered walls and 
hard wooden benches, an idea occurred to her. 

She begged Gandolfo to shut her up in one of the 
cells and leave her there for five minutes. 

“ Now I am a prisoner,” she said, when she was 
left alone. She felt the door : she felt the window. 
She was securely barred up. 


262 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

This is how it is to be a prisoner! Four bare 
walls around one, and the silence and chill of the 
grave. 

“Now I will feel as a prisoner feels,” she thought. 

At the same moment she forgot everything in her 
fear that Gandolfo might not come to let her out. 
Why, he might be called away, he might become 
suddenly ill, he might fall and be mortally injured 
in one of the dark passages. A great many things 
might happen to prevent him from coming. 

No one, however, knew where she was, no one 
would seek her in this forgotten cell. Were she left 
there for one hour only, she would be mad from 
fright. 

She saw before her the hunger, the long hunger. 
She struggled on through the endless hours of an- 
guish. Ah, how she would listen for footsteps, how 
she would call ! 

She would shake the door, she would scrape the 
mortar off the walls with her nails, she would try and 
bite the window grating to pieces. 

When at last they found her, she would be lying 
dead on the floor, and traces of how she had tried to 
force her way out would be found everywhere. 

Why didn’t Gandolfo come? Now she had been 
there a quarter of an hour, a half hour. Why did he 
not come? 

She was certain that she had been locked up a 
whole hour when at last Gandolfo came. Where 
had he been so long? 

He hadn’t been long at all. He had only been 
gone five minutes. 

God, 0 God, such then was captivity, this was 


A JETTATORE 


263 

Gaetano’s life ! She burst into convulsive weep- 
ing, when she again beheld the open sky above her. 

A little later, as they were standing on an open 
loggia, Gandolfo pointed out to her a window with 
blinds and green awnings. 

“ Does any one live there ? ” she asked. 

“ Yes, Donna Micaela.” 

Gandolfo related that a man lived there, who 
never went out except at night, a man, who never 
spoke to any one. 

“ Is he insane ?” asked Donna Micaela. 

“ O, no, he is as sane as you or I. It is said, how- 
ever, that he is obliged to hide. He fears the gov- 
ernment.” 

Donna Micaela became very much interested in 
this man. “ What is his name? ” he said. 

“ I call him Signor Alfredo.” 

“ How does he get food?” she asked. 

“ I prepare his food,” said Gandolfo. 

“ And clothes ? ” 

“ I get them for him, I — I also provide him with 
books and papers.” 

Donna Micaela was silent a while. “ Gandolfo,” 
she said and handed him a rose, which she held in 
her hand, “lay that on the tray, next time you 
carry food to your poor prisoner ! ” 

After that Donna Micaela sent almost every day 
some trifle to the man at the monastery. It might 
be a flower, a book or some fruit. It was such a 
pleasure for her. She almost succeeded in fancying 
that it was Gaetano to whom she was sending all 
this. 

On the day appointed for the fair, Donna Micaela 


264 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

came to the monastery very early in the morning. 
“ Gandolfo,” she said, “ go up to your prisoner and 
ask him if he will come to the feast this evening.” 

Gandolfo soon returned with the answer. “ He 
thanks you, Donna Micaela,” said the boy. “ He 
will come.” 

She was surprised, for she had hardly believed 
that he would venture out. She had only wished to 
show him a kindness. 

Something made Donna Micaela look up. She 
was standing in the monastery courtyard, and a win- 
dow was thrown open in one of the buildings above 
her. Donna Micaela saw a middle-aged man of 
pleasing appearance standing there looking down 
upon her. 

“ There he is, Donna Micaela,” said Gandolfo. 

She was happy. It was as if she had rescued and 
redeemed this man. And it was more than that. 
People devoid of imagination, will not understand it. 
But Donna Micaela went the whole day trembling 
and longing. She was thinking of how she should 
be dressed. It was as if she had expected Gaetano. 

But Donna Micaela was soon so busy with other 
things that there was no time for dreams. All day 
a mass of disgusting things poured in upon her. 

The first was a letter from the old Etna robber, 
Falco Falcone. 

“ Dear Friend Donna Micaela : 

“ Having heard that you intend to build a railroad 
on Etna, I wish to say that with my consent it shall 
never be done. I tell you this now, that you may 
not waste more money and pains on that matter. 


A JETTATORE 265 

“ Enlightened and honorable Signora, I remain 
Your humble servant, 

“ Falco Falcone.” 

“ Passafiore, a nephew, has written the letter.” 

Donna Micaela tossed the soiled letter aside. It 
seemed to her as if that was a death-warrant for the 
railroad. To-day, however, she would not think of 
it. Now she had her bazar. 

Immediately after that her road-builders Giovanni 
and Carmelo came. They wished to advise her to 
procure an engineer. Presumably she did not know 
the nature of the ground on Etna. First it was lava, 
then ashes and then lava again. Should the road 
be laid on the uppermost layer of lava, or on the 
ash-bed, or should they dig down still deeper ? 
About how solid a foundation was necessary for a 
railroad ? They could accomplish nothing without 
a man who understood this. 

Donna Micaela dismissed them. To-morrow, to- 
morrow, she had no time to think of that to-day. 

Then Donna Elisa came with still worse news. 

There was a quarter in Diamante where only poor 
and wild people lived. 

These wretches had become frightened on hearing 
about the railroad. There will be an eruption and 
earthquake, they had said. The great Etna will 
submit to no fetter. It will shake off the whole 
railroad. And the people now said that they ought 
to go out and tear up the road as soon as a rail was 
laid on it. 

An evil day, an evil day ! It seemed to Donna 
Micaela that she was farther from the goal than ever. 


266 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


“ Of what avail is it now to collect money at our 
bazar ! ” she said despairingly. 

Nor did it seem as if she were going to earn any 
money from her bazar. In the afternoon it com- 
menced raining. It had not rained in Diamante 
since the day the bells rang. The clouds laid them- 
selves close to the housetops, and the water poured 
out of them. One was drenched, after being two 
minutes on the street. 

At about six, when Donna Micaela’s bazar was 
opened, it rained hardest. When she arrived at the 
monastery there were none there except those who 
were to help serve and sell. 

She was on the point of crying. A day of evil ! 
Whence came all these reverses ? 

Donna Micaela’s eyes fell upon a stranger, who 
stood leaning against a pillar, regarding her. She 
recognized him at once. It was the jettatore from 
Catania, whom she had been taught to fear as a child. 

Donna Micaela walked briskly up to him. “ Come 
with me, signor,” she said, walking before him. She 
wished to withdraw to a distance so that no one 
should hear them, and then she wished to beg him 
never more to come before her eyes. 

She could not act differently. He must not ruin 
her whole life. 

She did not think in what direction she was going. 
Suddenly she found herself at the door of the mon- 
astery church and entered there. 

In there it was almost dark. A small lamp burn- 
ing beside the image of Christ spread a faint light. 

When Donna Micaela saw the image, she was star- 
tled. Just then she did not wish to see him. 


A JETTATORE 


267 

He reminded her of how his crown had rolled to 
Gaetano's feet, when the latter had become angry 
with the brigands. Perhaps the Christ-image did 
not wish that she should drive away the jettatore. 

Still she had real cause to fear the jettatore. And 
it was wrong of him to come to her feast. She must 
manage to get rid of him. 

Donna Micaela had passed through the whole 
church and now stood gazing at the image of Christ. 
She could not say a word to the man who followed her. 

She remembered how much compassion she had 
felt for him only a minute ago because he had 
been a prisoner, like Gaetano. She had felt so glad 
that she had been able to persuade him to come out 
into the world. What did she want to do now? 
Did she wish to send him back to prison ? 

She remembered both her father and Gaetano. 
Should this be the third one whom she. . . . 

She stood silent, struggling with herself. At 
length the jettatore began speaking. 

“ Well, signorina, is it true, that you now have had 
enough of me ? ” 

Donna Micaela made a contradictory gesture. 

“ Do you not wish me to return to my cell ? ” 

“ I do not understand you, signor." 

“ Yes, yes, you understand. Something terrible 
has happened to you to-day. You have an entirely 
different look now from that you had this morning." 

“ I am very tired," said Donna Micaela evasively. 

The man came close up to her as if to extort from 
her the truth. Question and answer followed each 
other in rapid succession. 

“ Don’t you see that your feast is about to become 


268 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


a failure?” — “ I’ll have to repeat it to-morrow.” — 
“Have you not recognized me, then?” — “Yes, I 
have seen you before in Catania.” — “And you are 
not afraid of the jettatore?” — “I used to be, as a 
child.” — “ But now, now you are not afraid ? ” — She 
avoided answering him. — “ Are you yourself afraid ? ” 
she said. — “ Speak the truth ! ” he said impatiently. 
“ What was it you wanted to say to me, when you 
conducted me hither?” 

She gazed anxiously around. She must say some- 
thing, she must make some reply. At that moment 
there arose in her mind a thought that appeared to 
her wholly preposterous. She looked at the image 
of Christ. “ Do you demand this ? ” she seemed to 
ask him. “ Shall I do it for this stranger ? Ah, but 
it is throwing away my only hope.” 

“ I hardly know if I dare to tell what I wanted 
with you,” she said. — “ I knew it, you do not dare.” 
— “ I intend to build a railroad. Do you know 
that?” — “Yes, I know.” — “I wanted you to help 
me.”— “ Should I?” 

Now that she had made a beginning, it was easier 
for her to proceed. She was astonished to find how 
natural it sounded when she spoke. 

“ I know that you are a railroad constructor. You 
probably understand that, for service on my railroad, 
no salary is given. Still it would be better that you 
helped me work than to sit confined here. You are 
only wasting your time.” 

He looked at her almost sternly. “ Do you know 
what you are saying?” — “ It is, I dare say, a pre- 
sumptuous request.” — “ Yes, even so, a presumptu- 
ous request.” 


A JETTATORE 


269 

Thereupon the wretched man began to frighten her. 

“ It would go with your railroad as with your 
bazar.” Donna Micaela thought so, too, and as she 
saw no way of getting out of it, she felt she must 
hold out by being kind. — “ My bazar will soon be 
in full operation,” she said. 

“ Listen, Donna Micaela,” said the man. “ The 
last thing a person ceases to think well of is himself, 
to put good faith in, is himself. One cannot cease 
to have hope regarding oneself.” 

“ No, why should one ? ” 

He made a motion, as though he were impatient 
at her assurance. 

“ When I first began to think over the matter,” 
he said, “ I consoled myself easily. * It has been a 
couple of unfortunate incidents,’ I said to myself. 
‘ Rumors have got abroad concerning you, and 
thus it has become a belief. It is the belief that 
bewitches. One has met you, and one has believed 
that one should fail, and one has failed. It is a mis- 
fortune worse than death to be considered a jetta- 
tore, but you need not yourself believe in it. ’ ” 

“ It is so unreasonable,” said Donna Micaela. 

“ Of course, whence should my eyes have obtained 
power to bring misfortune ? Accordingly, I decided 
to make an attempt. I journeyed to a place where 
no one knew me. The following day I read in the 
paper that the train in which I had traveled had run 
over a line-man. When I had been one day at the 
hotel, I saw the host in despair and all the guests 
departing. ‘ What has happened ? ’ I asked. *- One 
of our servants has been smitten by the small-pox.’ 
Ah, what misery ! 


270 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

“ Well, Donna Micaela, I shut myself in and with- 
drew from all contact with the world. When a year 
had passed, I had become calm. I asked myself 
why I lived so secluded. ‘ Surely you are a harmless 
man,’ I said ; ‘you would do injury to no one. Why 
do you live as wretchedly as a misdoer?’ I had 
just decided to enter into life again, when I chanced 
to meet Fra Felice in one of the passages. ‘ Fra 
Felice, where is the cat?’ — ‘The cat, signor?’ — 
‘Yes, the cloister cat, that used to come and get 
milk with me. Where is he now ? ’ — ‘ He was caught 
in a rat-trap.’ — ‘In a rat-trap, Fra Felice?’ — ‘He 
got his paw into a wire trap, and could not extricate 
himself. He dragged himself to one of the garrets, 
and died there of hunger.’ What do you say to 
that, Donna Micaela ? ” 

“ Should you be to blame because the cat died ? ” 

“lama jettatore.” 

She shrugged her shoulders. 

“ Oh, how absurd ! ” 

“ As the time passed, there woke again within me 
a desire to live. Then Gandolfo knocked at my door 
and invited me to your feast. Why should I not 
go? It is impossible to believe of oneself that one 
brings misfortune simply by appearing. Only to 
get ready, Donna Micaela, was a feast, to take out 
one’s black clothes, to brush them and put them on. 
But as I came down to the place of festivity, it was 
desolate, the rain poured in torrents, your Venetian 
lanterns were filled with water. And you yourself 
looked as though you had encountered all life’s mis- 
fortunes in a single day. When you saw me your 
face became ashy from terror. I asked some one : 


A JETTATORE 


271 


1 What is Signora Alagona’s maiden name ? ’ — ‘ Pal- 
meri.’ — ‘ Ah, Palmeri ! she is then from Catania. 
She has recognized the jettatore.’ ” 

“Yes, that is true ; I knew you/' 

“You have been very kind, very good, and I am 
sorry that I have spoiled your feast. But I promise 
you now that I shall keep away both from your feast 
and your railroad.” 

“ Why should you keep away ? ” 

“ I am a jettatore.” 

“ I do not believe it. I cannot believe it.” 

“ I do not believe it, either. Yes, yes, I believe. 
It is said that no one can gain ascendancy over a 
jettatore, who is not as great in malice as he. Once, 
it is said, a jettatore looked at himself in a mirror, 
and immediately he fell down and died. Well, I 
never look at myself in a mirror. Consequently, I 
myself believe it.” 

“ I do not believe it. I almost think I believed it 
when I saw you out there. Now I do not believe 
it.” 

“ Perhaps you will let me work on your railroad ? ” 

“Yes, yes ; would you ? ” 

Again he came close to her, and they exchanged 
a few short sentences. — “ Step out into the light. 
I wish to see your face!” — “You think that I am 
dissembling.” — “ I believe you are polite.” — “ Why 
should I be polite towards you ? ” — “ Of what sig- 
nificance is this railroad to you ? ”— “ It signifies life 
and happiness to me.” — “ In what way?” — “ It will 
benefit one who is dear to me.” — “ Very dear?” 

She did not answer, but he read the answer in her 
face. 


2*]2 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

He then knelt before her, and bowed his head so 
low that he could kiss the hem of her skirt. — 
“You are kind, you are very kind. I will never 
forget this. O, were I not what I am, how I would 
serve you ! ” 

“You shall serve me,” she said. And his happi- 
piness so moved her that she no longer feared that 
he might harm her. 

He started up. “ I will tell you something. You 
cannot cross the floor, without stumbling, if I look 
at you.” 

“ Oh ! ” she said. 

“ Try ! ” 

And she tried. But she was quite timid. Ever 
since she had taken her first steps, she had never felt 
so insecure. But then she thought, “ If it were for 
Gaetano’s sake I could do it.” And she did it. 

She walked back and forth across the floor of 
the church. “ Shall I do it once more ? ” He 
nodded. 

While she walked, the thought occurred to her, 
that the Christ-child had taken the curse from him in 
order that he might aid her. She turned abruptly 
and came back to him. 

“ Do you know, do you know, you are no 
jettatore ! ” 

“ Am I not ? ’ 

“ No, no,” she took him by the shoulders and 
shook him. “ Don’t you see, don’t you under- 
stand ? It is taken away from you.” 

The voice of the little Gandolfo was heard in the 
passage outside the church. “ Donna Micaela, 
Donna Micaela, where are you. We’ve got such a 


A JETTATORE 2^3 

lot of people, Donna Micaela. Do you hear, do you 
hear ? ” 

“ Has the rain ceased ? ” said the jettatore in an 
unsteady voice. 

“ It does not rain, how can it rain ? The image of 
Christ has taken the curse away from you, in order 
that you may serve his railroad.” 

The man tottered and groped in the air with his 
hands. “ It is gone. Yes, I believe it is gone. A 
moment ago it was there. But. . . .” 

Again he wanted to fall on his knees to Donna 
Micaela. 

“ Not to me, to it, to it,” she said, pointing to the 
image of Christ. 

But he fell down before her nevertheless. He 
kissed her hands and between convulsive sobs he told 
her how people had persecuted and shunned him and 
how full of misery his life had been. 

The following day the jettatore was at work stak- 
ing out a road. And he was not more dangerous 
than any other person. 


274 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


IX 

PALAZZO GERACI AND PALAZZO CORVAJA 

It was at the time when the Normans reigned in 
Sicily, long before the Alagona race had come to the 
island, that the two magnificent palaces, Geraci and 
Corvaja were erected in Diamante. 

The noble barons Geraci built their house by 
the market-place, on the crest of Monte Chiaro, 
whereas the barons Corvaja built their home far 
down the mountain, and embedded it in gardens. 

Palazzo Geraci ’s black lava walls enclosed a small 
square courtyard all harmony and beauty. A high 
staircase, which passed underneath a triumphal arch 
garnished with weapons, led up into the second 
story. Not all around the courtyard, but here and 
there in the most unexpected places the walls 
opened to form a pillared loggia. Outside, the walls 
were ornamented with relief-fillets, with many 
colored slabs of Sicilian marble and with the Geraci 
barons’ coat-of-arms. There were windows, too, 
very small, but whether they were round, with aper- 
tures so small that a grape leaf might cover them, or 
oblong, and so narrow that they did not admit more 
light than a slit in a curtain, they had magnificently 
wrought frames. 

The barons Corvaja did not care to adorn the 
courtyard of their palace, but on the ground-floor a 


PALAZZO GERACI AND PALAZZO CORVAJA 

magnificent hall was fitted up. A large cistern for 
gold-fishes was put in the floor, in the niches of the 
walls fountains covered with mosaic were erected, 
where clear water fell into seashells of gigantic size. 
Above this was a vault of Moorish structure sup- 
ported by high pillars entwined by mosaic wreaths. 
It was a hall the like of which was only to be found 
in the Saracen palace at Palermo. 

There was rivalry and contention during the 
whole period of building. When Palazzo Geraci 
added a balcony, Palazzo Corvaja added its high 
Gothic arched windows ; when Palazzo Geraci’s roof 
was adorned with richly carved merlons, Palazzo 
Corvaja added a frieze of black marble inlaid with 
white. Geraci’s palace had a high tower, Corvaja’s 
had a roof-terrace with ancient jars along the railing. 

When at last the palaces were completed rivalry 
between the families who had built them began. 
Enmity and strife, it seemed, was communicated by 
the houses to all who lived in them. A baron Geraci 
could never be of the same opinion as a baron Cor- 
vaja. When Geraci fought for Anjou, Corvaja did 
battle for Manfred. If Geraci changed sides and 
supported Aragon, Corvaja departed for Naples and 
fought for Robert and Johanna. 

But this was not enough. If Geraci gained a 
son-in-law, Corvaja felt he must add to his power by 
an advantageous marriage. The two families never 
found peace. The Geracis left home for the Bour- 
bon court at Naples, not from a desire to gain dis- 
tinction, but because the Corvajas were there. The 
Corvajas, on the other hand, had felt obliged to 
cultivate wine and work the sulphur-mines, because 


276 THE MIRACLES OE ANTICHRIST 

the Geracis were interested in farming and mining. 
When a Geraci had been left an inheritance, some 
old relative of the Corvajas felt compelled to die, 
that the honor of the race might not be hazarded. 

Palazzo Geraci was constantly busy counting its 
servants in order not to be surpassed by Palazzo 
Corvaja. But this was not enough ; they must also 
keep track of the galloons on the caps too, and of 
the harness and horses. The pheasant feather at the 
neck of Corvaja’s leading-horses must not be an inch 
higher than Geraci’s. Their flocks of goats must in- 
crease in the same proportion, and Geraci’s oxen 
must have just as long horns as Corvaja’s. 

In these days we would think that there ought to 
have been an end to the enmity between the two 
palaces. In these days the two palaces stand 
equally desolate. 

Geraci’s courtyard is now a filthy hole, containing 
both donkey stable and pig-sty and hen-yard. On 
the high staircase rags are dried and the relief-fillets 
are broken and scarred. In one of the two entrances 
vegetables are sold, and in the other shoes are made. 
The porter looks like the most wretched of beggars, 
and from cellar to garret may be found only poor 
miserable people. 

Nor is Palazzo Corvaja one whit better. There 
is not a trace left of the mosaic covering in the great 
hall, only empty naked vaults. No beggars live 
there, because the greater part of the palace is in 
ruins. It lifts now only its beautiful front with 
the ornamented window-frames towards the bright 
Sicilian sky. 

But the enmity between Geraci and Corvaja is not 


PALAZZO GERACI AND PALAZZO CORVAJA 277 

ended. In olden times it was not only the noble 
families themselves who vied with each other, it was 
also their neighbors and dependents. All Diamante 
is constantly divided between Geraci and Corvaja. 
There is still a high crenelated wall running through 
the city, separating that part of Diamante which sides 
with Geraci, from that which has declared itself an 
adherent of Corvaja. To this day no one from Geraci 
will marry a girl from Corvaja. And a shepherd 
from Corvaja cannot let his sheep drink at Geraci’s 
well. They have not the same saints even. San 
Pasquale is worshiped by Geraci and the black 
Madonna is Corvaja’s patron-saint. 

A man from Geraci can never believe anything 
else than that Corvaja is full of goblins, witches and 
ogres. A man from Corvaja would wager his soul’s 
bliss that in Geraci is nothing but rogues and pick- 
pockets. 

Donna Micaela lived in the Geraci district, and 
soon all that part of the city were adherents of her 
railroad. Accordingly Corvaja could not but op- 
pose her. 

The inhabitants of Corvaja were particularly dis- 
pleased over two things. In the first place, they 
were jealous about the black Madonna’s prestige, 
and therefore did not like that another miracle- 
working image had come to Diamante. In the 
second, they feared that Mongibello would bury all 
Diamante in fire and ashes if it was encircled with a 
railroad. 

A few days after the fair, Palazzo Corvaja opened 
hostilities. Donna Micaela found one morning on 
the platform of the roof terrace a lemon so closely 


278 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

beset with pins that it looked like a steel ball. It 
was Palazzo Corvaja that tried to spirit into her 
head as many pains as there were pins in the lemon. 

Corvaja waited a few days to see what effect the 
lemon should make. But as Donna Micaela’s people 
went on with their staking out, they came one night 
and pulled them up. And when the stakes were put 
up again the next day, they broke the windows in San 
Pasquale’s, and threw stones at the image of Christ. 


There was a long and narrow little market-place on 
the south side of Monte Chiaro. On the two long 
sides stood tall, dark buildings. On one of the short 
sides was a steep chasm, on the other rose the pre- 
cipitous mountain. The side of the mountain was 
arranged in terraces, but the steps were sunken and 
the marble balustrades broken. On the broadest 
terrace rose the stately ruin of Palazzo Corvaja. 

The chief ornament of the market-place was a 
magnificent oblong basin for water, directly below 
the terraces and close to the mountain wall. It stood 
there, snow-white, adorned with reliefs and full of 
clear, cool water. That, of all Corvaja’s grandeur, 
was best preserved. 

One lovely and peaceful spring evening, two 
ladies, dressed in black, entered the little market- 
place. For a moment it was almost deserted. They 
looked about, and, seeing no one, sat down on the 
bench by the well, and waited. 

Soon some curious children approached and sur- 
veyed them, and one of them, who was old, began 
speaking to the children. She proceeded to relate 


PALAZZO GERACI AND PALAZZO CORVAjA 279 

stories to them. “ It is told, and once upon a time,” 
she said. 

So the children were told about the Christ-child, 
which transformed itself to roses and lilies when the 
Madonna met one of Herod’s soldiers, who had re- 
ceived command to murder all children. And 
they were told the legend about how the Christ- 
child once sat making birds out of clay, and how it 
clapped its hands and gave the clay cuckoo’s wings to 
fly away with, when a bad boy wanted to break them. 

While the elderly lady was talking, many children 
gathered around her, but grown-up people came too. 
It was Saturday night, so that the field laborers came 
home from their work in the fields. Most of them 
stopped at Corvaja’s well to get a drink of water 
before going home. Hearing that legends were 
being told there, they tarried to listen. The two 
ladies were soon surrounded by a dark wall of coarse 
black mantles and slouched hats. 

Suddenly the old lady said to the children : “ Do 
you like the Christ-child ? ” — “ Yes, yes,” they said, 
and their large, dark eyes sparkled. “You would 
no doubt, like to see it?” — “Yes, we would.” 

The lady threw back her mantle and showed the 
children a little image of Christ in a swaddle beset 
with rings and with a gold crown on its head, and 
gold shoes on its feet. “ Here it is,” she said. “ I 
have taken it with me to show you.” 

The children were enraptured. They first folded 
their hands before the image’s earnest face, then 
they commenced to throw kisses at it. 

“You think it beautiful, do you not ? ” said the 
old lady. 


280 the miracles of antichrist 

“ Let us have it, let us have it ! ” cried the chil- 
dren. 

Just then a laborer, large, dark complexioned 
with a black, bristly beard, pushed himself forward. 
He wanted to snatch away the image. The old lady 
barely had time to thrust it behind her back. 

“ Give it here, Donna Elisa, give it here ! ” said 
the man. 

Poor Donna Elisa glanced at Donna Micaela, who 
had sat silent and displeased beside her. It was 
with difficulty Donna Micaela had been persuaded 
to go to Corvaja and show the image to the people 
there. “ The image will aid us when it pleases,” 
she said. 

But Donna Elisa had persisted in going and had 
said that the image was only waiting to be carried 
to the unbelieving wretches in Corvaja. After all it 
had done, they surely might put so much con- 
fidence in it, that they believed that it would win 
these also. 

But there stood Donna Elisa now, the fellow tow- 
ering above her, and seeing no way to prevent him 
from snatching the image away from her. 

“ Give it to me with a good grace, Donna Elisa,” 
said the man, “ or, by God, I’ll take it. I’ll chop it 
into small pieces, into small, small pieces. You will 
see how much there will be left of your wooden doll. 
You will see, if it will be able to vie with the black 
Madonna.” 

Donna Elisa pressed herself up close to the side of 
the mountain ; she saw no means of escape. She could 
not run, nor could she struggle. “ Micaela,” she 
moaned, “ Micaela ! ” 


PALAZZO GERACI AND PALAZZO CORVAJA 28 1 

Donna Micaela was very pale. She held her hands 
against her heart, as was her wont when anything ex- 
cited her. It was terrible for her to stand as enemy 
against these swarthy looking men. It was these in 
the short mantles and slouched hats whom she had 
always feared. 

Now, when Donna Elisa appealed to her, she 
turned quickly and, seizing the image, held it out to- 
wards the man. 

“ Take it ! ” she said defiantly. And she came for- 
ward a step to meet him. “ Take it, and do what you 
can with it ! ” 

She held the image on her outstretched arms, and 
came nearer and nearer to the dark laborer. 

He turned towards his comrades. “ She thinks I 
cannot harm that doll,” he said and scoffed at her. 
And the whole cluster of working men struck their 
knees and laughed. 

But he did not take the image, instead he grasped 
the large hoe which he held in his hand. He turned 
aside a few steps, lifted the hoe above his head and 
strained his whole body to give a blow which at once 
ought to shatter the abhorred wooden doll. 

Donna Micaela shook her head warningly. “You 
cannot do it,” she said, and she did not draw back 
the image. 

He saw that she nevertheless was afraid, and he 
delighted in frightening her. He stood longer than 
was necessary with uplifted hoe. 

At that moment there came a loud, distressing cry 
of “ Piero ” and again, “ Piero, Piero ! ” 

The man lowered the hoe without striking. He 
looked terrified. 


282 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

“ Piero,” it came once more, shrill and piercing as 
a cry for help. “ God, it is Marcia calling,” he said. 

Just then a crowd of people rushed pell-mell out 
of a little hut which was built inside the old Palazzo 
Corvaja’s ruins. It was half a score of women and 
one carabineer at strife. The carabineer held a child 
on his arm, and the women tried to snatch the child 
away from him. But the policeman, who was a tall 
and strong man, broke loose from them, and placing 
the child on his shoulder he ran down the terrace 
steps. 

Piero had looked on without making a movement. 
When the carabineer got away, he bent forward to- 
ward Donna Micaela and said earnestly : “ If the 

little one can avert that, all Corvaja shall become his 
friend.” 

Now the carabineer had reached the market-place. 
Piero made a sign with his hand. Instantly all his 
comrades formed a ring around the fugitive. He 
glanced in all directions. Everywhere he saw a close 
ring of men, threatening him with their hoes and 
spades. 

A frightful confusion ensued. The women, who 
had been struggling with the carabineer, came rush- 
ing down, shouting loudly. The girl whom he held 
in his arms screamed with all her might and tried to 
tear herself away. People poured in from all sides. 
All began to question and wonder. 

“ Let us now go,” said Donna Elisa to Donna 
Micaela. “ No one thinks of us now.” 

But Donna Micaela had caught sight of one of the 
women. She screamed least, but she saw immediately 
that the matter concerned her particularly. It was 


PALAZZO GERACI AND PALAZZO CORVAJA 283 

evident that she was about to lose her life’s happi- 
ness. 

It was a woman who had been very beautiful, 
although all freshness was now gone, for she was no 
longer young. Still it was a grand and striking face. 
“ Here dwells a soul that can love and suffer,” said 
the face. Donna Micaela felt herself drawn toward 
this poor woman as toward a sister. 

“ No, it is not time to go yet,” she said to Donna 
Elisa. 

The carabineer asked and asked if they would allow 
him to pass. 

No, no, no ! Not before he gave back the child. 

The child was Piero’s and his wife Marcia’s. But 
they were not her real parents. That was what the 
quarrel was about. 

The carabineer endeavored to win the people over 
to his side by fair means. He tried to convince, not 
Piero or Marcia, but the others. “ It is Ninetta who 
is mother to the child,” he said, “ you know that, do 
you not ? She has not been able to have the child 
with her, while she has been unmarried, but now she 
is married and wants her child back. And now 
Marcia refuses to give her the boy. It is hard for 
Ninetta, who has not had her child with her for eight 
years. Marcia will not give it up. She turns Ninetta 
out when she comes begging for her child. Finally 
Ninetta felt obliged to complain to the syndic. And 
the syndic has told us to get the child for her. And be- 
sides is it not Ninetta’s child ? ” he said appealingly. 

But that had but little effect on Corvaja’s men. 

“ Ninetta is a Geraci,” burst out Piero, and the 
circle stood firm around the carabineer. 


284 THE miracles of antichrist 

“ When we came here to get the child,” said the 
latter, “ we did not find it. Marcia was dressed in black, 
and her room was dressed in black, and a whole lot 
of women sat mourning with her. And she showed 
us the child’s certificate of death. Then we went and 
told Ninetta that her child was in the churchyard. 

“ Well, a little later I was on duty here in the market- 
place. I watched the children at play there. Who 
was strongest and who screamed the loudest, if not 
one of the girls ? ‘ What is your name ? ’ I asked 

her — ‘ Francesco,’ she answered immediately. 

“The idea struck me, that this girl Francesco might 
be Ninetta’s boy, and I stood still and waited. A 
minute ago I saw Francesco go into Marcia’s house. 
I went there and by the table sat the girl Francesco 
eating her supper. Marcia and all the mourners be- 
gan to scream when I came. I then seized Signorina 
Francesco and ran. ‘For the child is not Marcia’s. 
Understand that, signori ! It is Ninetta’s. Marcia 
has no right to it.” 

Then Marcia finally began to speak. She spoke 
in a deep voice, which compelled attention, and she 
made few, but noble gestures. Had she no right to 
the child? Who had fed and clothed it? It would 
have been dead a thousand times, had it not been for 
her. Ninetta had left it with La Felucca. They knew 
La Felucca. To leave one’s child with her was the 
same as to say to it : “ Thou shalt die.” And besides 
right, right ! What did that mean ? The one whom 
the child loved had a right to him. The one who 
loved the child had a right to him. Piero and she 
loved the boy as their own son. They could not part 
with him. 


'PALAZZO GERACI AND PALAZZO CORVAJA 28$ 

There was despair over the wife, but still more 
over the husband. He threatened the carabineer 
should he stir. Yet the carabineer seemed to be 
aware that the victory would be his. They had 
laughed when he spoke about Signorina Francesco. 
“ Hew me down, if you will,” he said to Piero. 
“ Will it help you ? Will you be allowed to keep 
the child because of that ? It is not yours. It is 
Ninetta’s.” 

Piero turned towards Donna Micaela. “ Ask him 
to help me ? ” He pointed to the image. 

Donna Micaela then went immediately forward to 
Marcia. She was shy, and trembled at what she 
ventured to do, but it was not the time now to hold 
herself back. “ Marcia,” she whispered, “ confess ! 
confess, if you dare ! ” The woman looked at her 
aghast. — “ I see it plainly,” whispered Donna 
Micaela. “You are like each other as two cherries 
on the same stalk. But I’ll say nothing if you so 
wish. “He will kill me,” said Marcia. “I know 
one who will not let him kill you,” said Donna 
Micaela. Otherwise they will take the child away 
from you,” she added. 

All were silent and fixed their eyes on the two 
women. One saw how Marcia struggled with her- 
self. The features in her strong face twitched con- 
vulsively. So she moved her lips. “ The child is 
mine,” she said, but in a voice so low that no one 
heard it. She said it again, and now it came with a 
piercing cry. “ The child is mine.” 

“ What will you do with me now, when I confess 
it ? ” she said to her husband. “ The child is mine, 
but not yours. It was born when you were working 


286 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


in Messina. I placed it with La Felucca, and Ninet- 
ta’s boy was there too. One day when I came to La 
Felucca she said: * Ninetta’s boy is dead/ First I 
thought only this : ‘ O God, if it had been mine ! ’ 
So I said to La Felucca : ‘ Let my boy be dead, and 
let Ninetta’s live/ I gave La Felucca my silver 
comb, and she agreed to it. When you came home 
from Messina, I said to you : * Let us take a foster- 
child ! It has never been well between us. Let us 
try to adopt a child ! ’ You liked it, and I took my 
own child. And you have been fond of it, and we 
have lived as in paradise.” 

Even before she had ceased speaking the carabineer 
put down the child on the ground. The dark men 
silently opened their ranks for him, and he went his 
way. But a shiver as from ague passed through 
Donna Micaela as she saw the carabineer depart. 
He ought to have remained just then, in order to 
protect the poor woman. When he went, it was as 
if he had said : “ She is outside the law, that woman. 
Her, I cannot protect ! ” Every man and woman who 
stood there felt the same. “ She is outside the law/’ 

One after another they went their way. 

Piero stood motionless, looking up. Something 
wicked and awful was gathering within him. Ire and 
passion filled his soul. As soon as Marcia and he 
were left alone, something dreadful would burst forth. 

The most terrible of all was that the woman did 
nothing to escape her doom. She stood still, para- 
lyzed by the certainty that her fate was sealed, and 
that nothing could change it. She neither begged 
nor fled. She crouched together like a dog before 
an angry master. The Sicilian women know what 


PALAZZO GERACI AND PALAZZO CORVAJA 287 

awaits them when they have wounded their hus- 
band’s honor. 

The only one who tried to defend her was Donna 
Micaela. She would never have begged Marcia to 
confess, she said to Piero, had she known how he 
was. She had believed that he was a noble man. A 
noble man would have said like this : You have acted 
wickedly but this your confessing your crime before 
all and exposing yourself to my anger for the sake of 
saving the child, atones for all. That is punishment 
enough. A noble man would have taken the child 
on one arm, laid the other around his wife and gone 
joyfully to his home. A signor would have acted 
so. But he was no signor, he was a blood-hound. 

She might talk as much as she pleased, the man 
did not hear her, the woman did not hear her. It 
was as if her words had been thrown back by an im- 
penetrable wall. 

Just then the child came forward to the father and 
tried to take his hand. He looked at the boy enraged. 
Now that he was dressed in girl’s clothes and had 
his hair combed smoothly back behind his ears, he 
saw the likeness between him and Marcia, which he 
had never noticed before. He kicked Marcia’s son 
aside. 

It was an awful moment. The neighbors con- 
tinued to withdraw quietly and slowly. Many went 
unwillingly and hesitatingly, but they went neverthe- 
less. The man seemed only to be waiting until the 
last one should go. 

Donna Micaela ceased speaking ; instead she took 
the image and laid it in Marcia’s arms. “ Take it, 
sister, and may it protect you,” she said. 


288 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


The man saw it, and it seemed to increase his 
wrath. It was as if he could no longer abide the 
moment when he should be alone. He drew his 
body together. He was like a beast of prey before 
the spring. 

But the image rested not in vain in the woman's 
arms. The ejected image moved her to an act of the 
greatest love. 

“ What will Christ in paradise say to me, who has 
first deceived her husband and then made him a 
murderer ? ” she thought. And she remembered 
how she had loved this big Piero in youth’s glad 
days. Little had she dreamed then that she should 
bring upon him such misery. 

“ No, Piero, no, do not kill me ! ” she cried quickly. 
“ They’ll send you to the galleys. But you shall be 
spared the sight of me.” 

She sprang to the opposite side of the market- 
place, where the steep precipice began. One under- 
stood very well what she intended to do. Her face 
bore witness for her. 

Several hurried after her, but she had the start of 
them. At that moment the image, which she still 
carried, slipped out of her arms and laid itself at her 
feet. She stumbled over it and fell. Then she was 
overtaken. 

She struggled to get loose, but a couple of men 
held her. “ Ah, let me do it,” she cried, “ it is better 
for him.” 

But now her husband came up, too. He had 
caught up her child and placed it on his arm. He 
was deeply affected. 

“ There, Marcia, let it be, don’t mind it,” he said. 


PALAZZO GERACI AND PALAZZO CORVAJA 289 

He was confused, but his dark eyes sparkled with 
joy and spoke more than words. “ Perhaps, accord- 
ing to old custom, it ought to be so, but I do not care 
about it. There, come now ! It would be a pity on 
such a woman as you, Marcia.” 

He laid his arms around Marcia’s waist, and went 
towards his home up in Palazzo Corvaja’s ruins. It 
was, as when one of the ancient barons marched in 
there. The people of Corvaja stood on both sides 
of his way and bowed to him and Marcia. 

As they passed Donna Micaela, they both stopped, 
bent low before her and kissed the image, which had 
been returned to her. But Donna Micaela kissed 
Marcia. “ Pray for me in your happiness, sister 
Marcia ! ” she said. 

19 


290 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


X 

FALCO FALCONE 

The blind singers have sung about Diamante’s 
railroad week after week, and the large collection- 
box in San Pasquale’s has every night been full of 
gifts. Signor Alfredo surveys and stakes over on 
Etna’s slope, and in the dark lanes the women at 
their distaffs tell of wonderful things which have 
been done by the little image of Christ in the de- 
spised church. From the rich and mighty who own 
land on Etna, come letter after letter, offering to 
open land for the blessed undertaking. 

During these last weeks all come with gifts. Some 
give bricks for the stations, and some give powder 
to blast away lava blocks, and others give food for 
the laborers. But the poor people in Corvaja, who 
have nothing to give, come at night, when they have 
finished their work. They come with spades and 
wheelbarrows, and steal out on Etna, and dig the 
earth and lay the road. So that when Signor Al- 
fredo and his people arrive in the morning, they 
verily believe that the Etna goblins have broken 
loose from their lava-streams and helped them work. 

But all this time, it is asked and wondered : Where 
is the Etna king, Falco Falcone? Where is the 
mighty Falco, who has controlled the Etna slope for 
five and twenty years? He wrote to Don Ferrante’s 


FALCO FALCONE 


29I 


widow that she should not be permitted to build 
this railroad. What did he mean by his threat ? 
Why does he sit quiet, when they were defying his 
interdiction ? Why does he not shoot down the 
people of Corvaja, when they come stealing along 
through the night with their wheelbarrows and 
picks ? Why does he not drag the blind singers down 
into the quarry and beat them ? Why does he not 
steal Donna Micaela out of the summer palace that 
he might demand a discontinuance of the railroad 
building as a ransom for her life ? 

Donna Micaela says to herself : “ Has Falco Fal- 
cone forgotten his word, or is he waiting to strike 
till he may descend with the hardest vengeance?” 

And everybody asks in the same manner : “ When 
will Etna's cinder-cloud burst and bury the railroad ? 
When will Mongibello’s torrent dash it away ? 
When is the mighty Falco Falcone ready to destroy 
it?” 

While they are waiting for Falco to destroy the 
railroad, they talk about him a good deal, particu- 
larly among the working men, who are with Signor 
Alfredo. 

Directly opposite the entrance to San Pasquale’s 
church there stands, it is said, a little house on a 
bare cliff. The house is narrow, and so high that it 
resembles a chimney which is still standing after a 
burned-down house. 

It is so small that there is no room for the stairs 
inside the house, so they wind along outside the 
walls. Here and there hang balconies and other pro- 
jecting parts, arranged with no more symmetry than 
birds' nests on the trunk of a tree. 


292 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

In this house Falco Falcone was born, and his 
parents were only poor working people. But it was 
in this poor home that Falco learned to be proud. 

Falco’s mother was an unhappy woman, who, dur- 
ing the first years of her marriage, only bore daugh- 
ters into the world. Her husband and all her neigh- 
bors despised her. 

This woman longed for a son. When she was ex- 
pecting her fifth child, she strewed salt daily on her 
threshold, and sat spying who would be first to tread 
over it. Would a man come or a woman ? Would 
she bear a son or a daughter? 

Every day she sat counting. She counted the let- 
ters in the month when the child would be born. She 
counted the letters in her own name and her hus- 
band’s. She added and subtracted. The result was 
even numbers. Consequently she should bear a son. 
The next day she counted over again. “ Perhaps I 
counted wrong yesterday,” she said. 

When Falco was born, his mother was so honored 
that she loved him more on that account than all the 
rest of her children. When the father came in to see 
the child, he took off his cap and bowed low. Over 
the door of the house was placed a hat, as a mark of 
honor, and the child’s bathing-water was poured out 
over the threshold and allowed to run down the 
street. When Falco was carried to the church, he 
was laid on his grandmother’s right arm ; when the 
women neighbors came to see his mother, they 
curtesied to the child, where it lay slumbering in its 
cradle. 

It was also larger and stronger than children usu- 
ally are. Falco had from the first coarse hair, and 


FALCO FALCONE 


293 


when he was eight days old he had a tooth. But 
when his mother laid him to her breast, he was so 
violent that she laughed and said : “ I believe I 
have given the world a hero.” 

She always expected great things of Falco, and 
she filled him with pride. But who else had hopes 
of him ? Falco could not learn to read, even. His 
mother tried to take the book and teach him the let- 
ters. She pointed to A, this is the big hat ; she 
pointed to B, this is a pair of spectacles ; she point- 
ed to C, this is the snake. That he learned. Then 
his mother said : “ If you put the spectacles and the 
big hat together, you will have Ba.” That he could 
not learn. He became angry and struck her. And 
she let him be. “ You’ll be a great man, neverthe- 
less,” she would say. 

Falco was indolent and bad during his childhood 
and youth. As a child he would not play, grown up 
he would not dance. He took to himself no sweet- 
heart, yet he went gladly to places where quarreling 
might be expected. 

Falco had two brothers, who were like other peo- 
ple, and who were considered of greater importance 
than he. Falco, to be sure, felt hurt to find himself 
overlooked on account of his brothers, but he was 
too proud to show it, and his mother always took 
his part. After his father had died, she let him sit 
at the head of the table and she never allowed any- 
one to joke with him. “ My eldest son is foremost 
of you all,” she said. 

As the people remember this, they say : “ Falco 

is proud. He will esteem it an honor to destroy the 
railroad.” 


294 THE miracles of antichrist 

For thirty years, it is said, Falco lived in the same 
manner as other poor people on Etna. Monday he 
went to his work in the fields with his brothers. He 
had bread in his bag for the whole week, and he 
boiled rice and beans for soup like all the rest. And 
he was glad when on Saturday night he was allowed 
to return home. He was glad to find the table set 
with wine and maccaroni, and the bed made with soft 
pillows. 

It was just such a Saturday night. Falco and his 
brothers were returning home, and Falco, as usual, 
was a little behind the others, for he had a heavy 
and slow gait. But when the brothers came home 
no supper stood waiting on the table, the bed was 
not made, and the dust lay thick on the threshold. 
What, were all in the home dead ? Then they saw 
their mother sitting on the floor in a dark corner of 
the room. She had pulled her hair down over her 
face and sat writing with her finger on the earthen 
floor. “ What is the matter ? ” said the brothers. 
She did not look up, she spoke as though she were 
speaking to the ground. “ We are impoverished, 
impoverished.” “ Do they want to take the house 
away from us ? ” cried the brothers. — “ They want to 
take honor and bread.” 

So she related to them : “Your eldest sister has 
been in service at baker Gasparo’s, and it has been a 
good service. Signor Gasparo gave Pepa all the 
bread left over in the shop, and she gave it to me. 
It has been so much that it has been sufficient for 
us all. I have been glad ever since Pepa procured 
that service. My old age will now be free from care, 
I thought. But last Monday Pepa came home 


FALCO FALCONE 295 

to me and wept. Signora Gasparo had sent her 
away/' 

“What had Pepa done?” asked Nino, who was 
next to Falco in age. 

“ Signora Gasparo accused Pepa of stealing bread. 
I went to Signora Gasparo and begged her to take 
back Pepa. — ‘ No/ she said, ‘ the girl is not honest/ 
— 4 Pepa got the bread from Signor Gasparo/ I said. 
‘Just ask him/ — ‘ I cannot ask him/ said the signora, 
‘ he is away and comes home next month.’ — ‘ Signora,’ 
I said, ‘we are so poor. Take back Pepa.’ — ‘ No,’ 
she said, ‘ I myself will leave Signor Gasparo if he 
takes that girl back.’ — ‘ Beware,’ I then said, ‘ if you 
take the bread from me, I’ll take the life from you.’ 
Then she became frightened and called for help, so 
that I was obliged to go.” 

“ What is to be done ? ” said Nino. “ Pepa must 
get another situation.” 

“Nino,” said Mother Zia. “You do not know 
what that woman has said to the neighbors about 
Pepa and Signor Gasparo.” 

“ Who can prevent women from talking ? ” said 
Nino. 

“ If Pepa now has nothing else to do, she might 
at least make us some food,” said Turiddo. 

“ Signora Gasparo has said that her husband let 
Pepa steal bread in order that she should. ” 

“ Mother,” interrupted Nino fiery red. “ I do not 
intend to be put on the galleys for Pepa’s sake.” 

“ The galleys do not devour Christians,” said 
Mother Zia. 

“ Nino,” said Pietro, “ we must go to the city and 
get some food.” 


296 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

As they said that, they heard someone laugh 
behind them. It was Falco that laughed. 

A few minutes after that, Falco entered Signora 
Gasparo’s shop and asked to buy a loaf. The poor 
woman felt frightened when Pepa’s brother came 
into the shop. But then it occurred to her : He has 
just come from his work. He has not yet been 
home. He knows nothing. 

“ Beppo,” she said to him, for Falco was not 
called Falco then, “is the vintage good?” And 
she was prepared not to get any answer. 

But Beppo was more loquacious than usual, and 
told her straightway how many grapes they had 
already taken through the press. “ Do you know,” 
he said further, “ that yesterday our land-tenant was 
murdered.” — “ Ah yes, the poor Signor Riego. I 
heard it.” And she asked how it had happened. 

“ It was Salvatore, that did it. But it is too 
ghastly for a signora to listen to ? ” — “ O no, what 
is done, may also become known.” 

“ Salvatore went up to him like this, signora.” 
And Falco now drew his knife and laid his hand on 
the woman’s head. “ Then he cut him across the 
throat from ear to ear.” 

But at the same time Falco said that, he did it. 
The woman had not even had time to scream. It 
was as if an expert had done it. 

After that Falco was sent to the galleys, and he 
was there five years. 

And when this is told, terror increases. 

Falco is fearless. Nothing in the world can deter 
him from abandoning a purpose. 

And forthwith they remember still another story. 


FALCO FALCONE 


297 


Falco was conveyed to the galleys in Augusta, 
and while there became acquainted with Biagio, who 
since then has followed him all through life. One 
day he and Biagio and a third prisoner were com- 
manded to do some work in the fields. It was one of 
the overseers who wished to lay out a garden around 
his house. There they went quietly digging the 
earth, but their eyes began to wander and wander. 
They were outside the walls, they saw the plain and 
the mountains, they even saw far away toward 
Etna. 

“ It is time,” whispered Falco to Biagio. “ I’d 
rather die than return to prison,” said Biagio. 
Thereupon they whispered to the third prisoner 
that he must aid them. He did not want to, because 
his imprisonment was soon ended. “ Then we will 
kill you,” they Said. Whereupon he yielded. 

But the guard stood over them with his loaded 
gun in hand. On account of the shackles Falco and 
Biagio jumped with their feet together over to the 
guard. They brandished their spades above his head, 
and before he had time to think of shooting he was 
thrown to the ground, bound and had a piece of sod 
in his mouth. Thereupon the prisoners broke their 
chains with the spade, so that they could walk, and 
so stole away across the plain and in amongst the 
mountains. 

When night came, Falco and Biagio slipped away 
from the prisoner whom they had brought with 
them. He was old and weak, so that he would 
hinder their flight. The following day he was caught 
by the carabinieri and shot. 

And one shudders, when one remembers this. 


298 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

Falco is unmerciful, one says. One feels that he 
will not spare the railroad. 

And story after story comes frightening the poor 
people who work for the railroad out on the slope of 
Etna. 

They tell of all the sixteen murders Falco has 
committed. They tell of his assaults and depreda- 
tions. 

There is one story which frightens them more 
than all the others put together. 

When Falco returned from the galleys, he lived in 
the woods and caves and in the large quarries near 
Diamante. He soon had a powerful band collected 
around him. He became a grand and famous hero 
robber. 

After that his relatives were much more respected 
than hitherto. They were esteemed as are the 
great and mighty. They scarcely needed to work, for 
Falco loved his relatives, and was liberal towards 
them. But he was by no means indulgent towards 
them, he was severe. 

Mother Zia was dead, and Nino had married and 
lived in his father’s cottage. Then it happened one 
day that Nino needed money, and he knew of no 
other means than to go to the rector, not to Don 
Matteo, but to old Don Giovanni : “ Reverence,” 
said Nino to him, “ my brother begs of you five hun- 
dred lire.” — “Where shall I get five hundred lire ? ” 
said Don Giovanni. — “ My brother has need of them, 
has urgent need of them,” said Nino. 

Then old Don Giovanni promised to procure the 
money, if sufficient time was allowed him. Nino 
would hardly assent to that. You cannot ask that 


FALCO FALCONE 


299 


I shall take five hundred lire out of my snuff-box,” 
said Don Giovanni. And Nino granted him a respite 
of three days. “ But beware of meeting my brother 
during this time, ” said he. 

The next day Don Giovanni rode to Nicolosi to 
call in a debt. Who should he meet on the way, 
but Falco and two of his band. Don Giovanni 
threw himself from the mule down on his knees 
before Falco. “ What does this mean, Don Gio- 
vanni ? ” — “ I have not yet any money for you, Falco, 
but I will try to get it. Have compassion on me ! ” 
Falco inquired, and Don Giovanni related. “ Rever- 
ence, 1 ’ said Falco, “ they have wished to deceive you.” 
He bade Don Giovanni accompany him to Diamante. 
When they arrived at the old house, Don Giovanni 
rode in behind San Pasquale’s wall and Falco called 
out Nino. Nino came out on one of the balconies. 
“ Eh, Nino ! ” said Falco, laughing. “ You have 
got money out of the rector ? ” — “ Do you know that 
already?” said Nino. “ I was just intending to tell 
you about it. ” Falco now grew more severe. 
“ Nino,” he said, “ the rector is my friend, and he now 
believes that I wished to rob him. You have acted 
very wrong.” In an instant his rifle was at his eye 
and he shot down Nino. And when he had done 
this he turned to Don Giovanni, who almost fell 
off the mule from terror. “You see, Reverence, 
that I had no part in the plot against you ! ” 

And that happened twenty years ago, when Falco 
had not been a robber more than five years. 

“ Would Falco spare the railroad,” they ask, 
“ when he did not spare his own brother ? ” 

One recalls yet another thing. The murder of 


300 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


Nino drew down a vendetta over Falco. Nino’s 
wife was so terror-stricken, when she found her 
husband dead, that one side of her body became 
paralyzed so that she was unable to walk. But at 
the window in the old cabin she took her place. 

There she has sat for twenty years with the rifle 
beside her waiting for Falco. And her, the great 
robber, has feared. For twenty years he has not 
gone by his parental home. 

That woman has not failed her post. No one ever 
approached San Pasquale’s church without seeing 
her revengeful eyes glaring behind the window-pane. 
Who saw her sleep, who saw her work ? She could 
do nothing but lie in wait for her husband’s murderer. 

When one hears this, one becomes still more fright- 
ened. Falco has good luck, one thinks. The woman 
who wants to kill him cannot move from her place. 
Falco is lucky. He will also succeed in destroying 
the railroad. 

Fortune has never failed Falco. The carabinieri 
have pursued him, but have never been able to catch 
him. The carabinieri have feared Falco more than 
Falco has feared the carabinieri. 

A story is told of a young carabineer who pursued 
Falco. He had arranged a hue-and-cry and hunted 
Falco from copse to copse. Finally the officer felt 
certain that he had Falco hemmed in in a brushwood. 
All around the wood stood guards, and the officer 
set off in there, and went back and forth with the rifle 
in his hand. But however much he searched, he saw 
no Falco. He came out again and met a peasant. 
“ Have you seen Falco? ” — “ Yes, signor, he just 

passed by me, and he bade me greet you . . . ” 


FALCO FALCONE 


301 


— “ Diavolo ! ’ “ He saw you in the brushwood and 
he was very near shooting you, but he did not do it, 
because he thought that perhaps it was your duty to 
pursue him.” — “ Diavolo, Diavolo ! ” — “ But 
if you try once more after this . . . ” — “ Diavolo, 
Diavolo, Diavolo ! ” 

“ Do you suppose that lieutenant ever came back ? 
Don’t you suppose that he at once removed to a neigh- 
borhood where he did not need to pursue robbers ? ” 

And the working-men out on Etna ask themselves : 
“ Who will aid us against Falco ? He is formid- 
able. Even the soldiers tremble before him.” 

But Falco Falcone is now an old man. He no longer 
plunders the mail-coach, he does not kidnap estate- 
owners. He sits for the most part, quietly, in the 
quarry in Diamante, and, instead of stealing money 
and goods, he receives money and goods into his 
charge. All this they muse over. He receives a fee 
from the large estate-owners, that he shall protect 
their possessions against other robbers, and it has 
become quiet and peaceful on Etna, for he allows no 
one to harm those who pay him tribute. 

But that quiets no one. Now that Falco has become 
a friend of the great, he may so much the easier 
destroy the railroad. 

And they recall the story of Niccola Galli, who is 
the overseer on the Marquis di San Stefano’s estate, 
on the south side of Etna. One time his laborers 
“ struck ” in the midst of the harvest-time. Niccola 
Galli was in despair. The wheat stood ripe, and he 
could not get it harvested. His laborers would not. 
His laborers laid themselves down to sleep on the 
edge of the ditch, 


302 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

Niccola mounted a mule and departed for Catania 
to ask advice of his lord. On the way he met two 
men with rifles across their shoulders. “ Whither 
away, Niccola?” 

Before Niccola had time to say many words they 
had taken his donkey by the bridle and turned her. 
“ You shall not go to the marquis, Niccola.” — “ Shall 
I not?” — “No, you shall ride home.” 

And off they w'ent along the road. Niccola sat 
trembling on his donkey. On arriving at the farm, 
the men said : “Now show us the field ! ” And they 
went out to the laborers. — “Work, you rascals! 
The marquis has payed his fee to Falco Falcone. 
You may strike in other places, but not here.” That 
field was harvested like no other. Falco stood 
on one side of the field and Biagio on the other. 
With such farm-bailiffs the harvesting was soon 
done. 

When one remembers this one’s fears increase. 
“ Falco keeps his word,” one says. “ He will do 
what he has threatened to do.” 

No one has been robber chief so long as Falco. 
All the famous champions have perished or have 
been imprisoned. He alone clings with marvelous 
luck and skill to life and his profession. 

By degrees he has collected around him his whole 
family. His brothers-in-law and nephews are all 
with him. Most of them have been sent to the 
galleys. None of them ever minds if he suffers 
in prison. He only asks if Falco is satisfied with 
him. 

In the newspapers one often reads about Falco’s 
achievements. One knows that the Englishmen 


FALCO FALCONE 


303 


smuggle a ten-lire-bill into the hand of the guide, if 
he leads them to Falco’s quarry. One knows that 
the carabinieri shoot at him no more, because he is 
the last great robber. 

He fears so little to be captured that he often 
wanders to Messina and Palermo. He has even 
crossed the Sound and been in Italy. He went to 
Naples when Guglielmo and Umberto were there to 
christen the iron-clad. He traveled to Rome when 
Umberto and Margherita celebrated their silver 
wedding. 

One thinks of this and trembles. Falco is beloved 
and admired, the workingmen say. One worships 
Falco. He has freedom to do what he pleases. 

They also know that when Falco beheld Queen 
Margherita’s silver wedding, it so pleased him that 
he said : “ When I have lived on Etna five and 
twenty years, I will celebrate my silver wedding 
with Mongibello.” 

People have laughed at this, and said that it was 
an excellent idea. For he had never had a beloved, 
but Mongibello with its caves and forests and craters 
and ice-fields had served him and protected him as 
a wife. To no one in the world did Falco owe such 
a debt of gratitude as to Mongibello. 

One asks when Falco and Mongibello are going 
to celebrate their silver wedding. And one answers 
that it would take place this spring. Then the la- 
borers think : “ He will destroy our railroad on 

Mongibello s day." 

Hesitation and fear prevail among them. Soon 
they dare work no further. As the time draws nigh, 
when Falco is to celebrate his alliance with Mongi- 


304 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


bello, Signor Alfredo loses more and more laborers. 
Soon he is almost alone at his work. 


There are not many people who have seen the 
great quarry out on Etna. They have learned to 
shun it, because Falco Falcone lives there. They 
have kept away beyond range of his rifle. 

They have not seen the great chasm in Mongibello’s 
side out of which their forefathers, the Greeks, took 
stone in times long gone by. They have not seen 
the brilliantly shaded walls and the huge rocks which 
resemble pillars ready to fall. And perhaps they 
do not know that at the bottom of the quarry 
stand flowers more magnificent than in a conser- 
vatory. 

It is no longer Sicily, it is India. 

In the quarry stand mandarin-trees, so golden 
with fruit that one believes them to be immense sun- 
flowers, and there the camellias become as large as 
tambourines. And on the ground between the trees 
lie masses of costly king figs and hairy peaches 
embedded on fallen rose-leaves. 

One evening Falco sits alone in the quarry. Falco 
is at work making a wreath, and before him lies a 
mass of flowers. String he has as thick as rope ; he 
keeps his foot on the ball that it may not roll away 
from him. He wears spectacles, but they glide 
continually too far down on the bent nose. 

Falco swears badly, for his hands are stiff with 
callosities, which have grown from constantly hand- 
ling his rifle, and he cannot manage flowers very easily. 
The fingers grip them as hard as iron tongs. Falco 


FALCO FALCONE 305 

swears over the lilies, and the anemones fall to 
pieces if only he looks at them. 

Falco sits there in his leather breeches and the 
long, buttoned coat, immured in flowers as a saint on 
a feast-day. Biagio and Passafiore, his nephew, have 
gathered them for him. They have piled up before 
him an Etna of the finest specimens that grow in the 
quarry. Falco can choose between lilies, cactus- 
blossoms and roses and geraniums. And he thunders 
at the flowers that he will trample them to dust 
under his leather sandals if they submit not to his ^ 
will. 

Never before has Falco had anything to do with 
flowers. As long as he has lived, he has never made 
a bouquet for a girl, or plucked a rose to place in 
his buttonhole. He has not even laid a wreath on 
his mother’s grave. 

Therefore the delicate flowers are rebellious to- 
wards him. Creepers entangle themselves in his 
hair and hat, and petals have fastened in his bristly 
beard. He shakes his head violently, and the scar on 
his cheek glows fiery red, as it used to do in former 
days when he fought with the carabinieri. 

Nevertheless the wreath grows, and thick as a tree 
trunk it twines about Falco’s feet and limbs. Falco 
swears over it as though it were the iron-fetter, which 
once dragged between his ankles. He complains 
more when he scratches himself on a thorn or stings 
himself on a nettle than he did when the galley- 
warder’s lash cut his back. 

Biagio and Passafiore, his nephew, dare not show 
themselves, but lie hidden in a cave until all is ready. 
They are in fits of laughter, because such lamenta- 
20 


30 6 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

tions as Falco’s have not echoed in the quarry since 
wretched prisoners of war languished there at their 
work. 

But Biagio gazes up towards the mighty Etna, 
blushing in the sunset. “ Look at Mongibello,” he 
says to Passafiore, “ see how it blushes. It must 
suspect what Falco is doing down in the quarry/’ 

And Passafiore answers : “ Surely Mongibello has 
never dreamed that it should have anything on its 
crown but ashes and snow.” 

But all at once Biagio ceased laughing. “ This is 
not well, Passafiore,” he said. “ Falco has become 
proud. I fear that the great Mongibello is making 
a fool of him.” 

The two bandits gaze searchingly into each other’s 
eyes. “It is well, if it is only pride,” says Passa- 
fiore. 

Now they both look away at the same time, and 
dare not say anything more. The same thought, 
the same terror has seized them both. Falco was 
on the high road to insanity. Already he is at times 
insane. That is the way with the great hero rob- 
bers. They cannot bear honor and greatness, they 
all become mad. 

Passafiore and Biagio have seen it long, but each 
one has kept it to himself, and each one has hoped 
that the other has not noticed it. Now they under- 
stand that both know it. They press each other’s 
hands without a word. There is still so much that 
is grand in Falco. They two, Passafiore and Biagio, 
will watch over him, that no one shall notice that he 
is no more what he has been. 

At length Falco’s wreath is finished, he hangs it 


FALCO FALCONE 


307 

on his gun-barrel, and approaches the others. Then 
all three ascend out of the quarry, and at the nearest 
farm they take horses, in order that they may quick- 
ly reach the top of Mongibello. 

They ride at a sweeping pace, so that they have 
not opportunity to talk, but as they pass the farms 
they can see how the people are dancing on the flat 
roofs. And from the sheds, where the farm hands 
encamp for the night, they hear talking and laughter. 
There sit happy and peaceful people guessing riddles 
and jesting. But Falco rushes by. Such is not for 
him. Falco is a great man. 

They dash upwards towards the heights. First, 
they ride between the almond trees and cactus, 
then under plantain trees and stone-pines, and so 
under oaks and chestnuts. 

But the night is dark ; they see nothing of Mongi- 
bello’s grandeur. They see not the vine entwined 
Monte Rosso ; they see not the three hundred 
crater-mouths which stand in a circle round about 
Etna’s top like towers round a city ; they see not 
the infinite charms of the woodlands. 

At Casa del Bosco, where the road terminates, 
they dismount. Biagio and Passafiore take the 
wreath and carry it between them. But as they 
proceed, Falco begins to talk. Since he has become 
old, he likes to talk. 

And Falco says that the mountain is like the 
twenty-five years of his life which he has lived there. 
Around the foundation years of his greatness grand 
deeds had flourished. To journey with him then, 
had been like moving beneath an endless pergola, 
where lemons and grapes hung over their heads. 


308 the miracles of antichrist 

Then his feats had grown profusely as the orange 
trees surrounding Etna’s foot. As he had come 
higher, his feats had become more scarce, but those 
he had accomplished had been mighty as the oaks 
and chestnuts on the rising mountain. Now that 
he was at the height of greatness, he disdained to 
act. His life was as bald as the mountain-top. He 
was content to see the world at his feet. But then, 
one ought to understand that if he now undertook 
something, nothing could withstand him. He was 
formidable as the fire-spitting height. 

Falco goes before and talks ; Passafiore and Biagio 
follow him in silent consternation. Dimly they see 
Mongibello’s mighty slope, with cities and fields and 
forests spread out before them. And Falco consid- 
ers himself to be just as great as all ! 

As they struggle upwards, increasing ghastliness 
enwraps them. It is the ground’s yawning rents ; 
it is the sulphur-smoke from the crater, which 
billows down the mountain, too heavy to rise 
directly in the air ; it is the shaking in the moun- 
tain ; it is the constant dull rumbling thunder ; it is 
the slippery, rough, ice-field through which streams 
are gushing ; it is the excessive cold, it is the biting 
wind, which makes the traveling so horrible. And 
Falco says that this is like him ! How is it, then, in 
his soul ? Prevails there a cold and a ghastliness 
that are comparable to Etna’s? 

They stumble over pieces of ice, and they work 
their way through snow that at times lies two feet 
deep. The mountain wind almost knocks them 
down. They must wade through slush and water, 
for on the previous day the sun has melted a large 


FALCO FALCONE 


309 


quantity of snow. And while they grow stiff with 
cold, the eternal fire beneath them shakes the moun- 
tain. 

They remember that Lucifero and all the con- 
demned are down there. They shudder to think 
that Falco has brought them to the gate of hell. 

They make their way, however, across the ice field 
and reach the steep ash-cone itself, on the very top 
of the mountain. Here they struggle upwards, 
through gliding ashes and pumice-stone. When 
they are half-way up the cone, Falco takes the 
wreath and beckons to the others to wait. He 
alone shall ascend the height. 

It grows light all at once, and as Falco reaches the 
top the sun appears. Mongibello, and even the old 
Etna-robber, stand enveloped in the most glorious 
morning light. But Etna’s shadow is thrown over 
the whole of Sicily, and it seems as if Falco, who 
stands up there, reached from sea to sea, right across 
the island. 

Falco stands there and looks about him. He 
looks over towards Italy ; he fancies he sees Naples 
and Rome. He lets his eyes roam over the seas, 
toward the land of the Turks in the east and the 
Saracen country in the south. He feels as if all this 
lay at his feet and acknowledged his greatness. 

Then Falco lays the wreath down on Mongibello’s 
top. 

When he comes down to his companions he 
presses their hands earnestly. In descending the 
cone, they notice that he picks up a pumice-stone 
and puts it in his pocket. Falco takes away with 
him a remembrance of the sweetest moment of his 


310 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

life. So great he has never felt before as there on 
the summit of Mongibello. 

But on this day of rejoicing, Falco does not wish 
to work. “To-morrow,” he says, “ I will go to work 
and deliver Mongibello from the railroad.” 


On the road between Paternb and Adernb lies a 
lonely farmhouse. It is quite large, and it is owned 
by a widow, Donna Silvia, who has many and strong 
sons. It is a brave people that dare to live the year 
round alone out in the country. 

It is the day after the one on which Falco had 
adorned Mongibello. Donna Silvia sits in the yard 
at her distaff. She is alone, there is no one at home 
on the farm but her. Just then a beggar steals in 
quietly through the gate. 

He is an old man with a long, bent nose, which 
hangs down over his upper lip, bushy beard, dull 
red-edged eyes. One cannot see uglier eyes, the 
white in them is yellow, and they squint. The beg- 
gar is tall and very thin ; when he walks he moves 
his body in such a way that it seems as though he 
wriggled along. He walks so quietly that Donna 
Silvia does not hear him. She first becomes aware 
of his shadow which, slender as a snake, comes mean- 
dering along towards her. 

She looks up when she notices the shadow. Then 
the beggar bows and asks for a course of maccaroni. 

“ I have maccaroni over the fire,” says Donna 
Silvia. “ Sit down and wait and you shall have your 
fill.” 

The beggar sits down beside Donna Silvia, and 


FALCO FALCONE 


311 

after a while they begin to talk. Before long they 
are talking about Falco. 

“ Is it true that you allow your sons to work on 
Donna Micaela’s railroad ? ” says the beggar. 

Donna Silvia bites her teeth together and nods 
affirmatively. 

“You are a brave woman, Donna Silvia. Falco 
might take revenge on you.” 

“ Let him take revenge then,” says Donna Silvia. 
“ I will not mind him, who has killed my father. 
He forced him to flee from the prison in Augusta, 
and my father was caught and shot.” 

When she has said this, she rises and goes into 
the house to fetch the food. 

But as she stands in the kitchen, she sees the beg- 
gar, who sits rocking on the stone bench. He is not 
still for a moment. And before him wriggles his 
shadow, slender and mobile as a snake. 

Donna Silvia now recalls what she once had heard 
Caterina, who had been married to Falco’s brother, 
Nino, say. “ How shall you know Falco now after 
twenty years ? ” some one had asked her. “ Should 
I not know the man with the snake shadow ? ” she 
had answered. “ That, he will not lose as long as he 
lives.” 

Donna Silvia’s hand leaps to her heart. Out there 
in her yard sits Falco Falcone. He has come to take 
vengeance, because her sons work on the railroad. 
Will he set the house on fire, or will he murder her? 

Donna Silvia trembles, as she serves up her mac- 
caroni. 

Falco, however, begins to find time long, where he 
sits on the stone bench. A little dog comes up to 


312 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


him and rubs himself against him. Falco feels in 
his pocket after bread, but finds only a stone, which 
he throws to the dog. 

The dog fetches the stone and forthwith comes 
back to Falco with it. Falco throws it once more. 
The dog takes the stone again, but now he runs 
away with it. 

Falco remembers that it is the stone he picked up 
on Mongibello, and pursues the dog to get it back. 
He whistles to the dog, and it comes to him instantly. 
“ Give me the stone ! ” The dog puts his head on 
one side and will not give it to him. “ Ah, give me 
the stone, you rascal ! ” The dog closes his lips. 
Why, he has no stone. “ Let’s see, let’s see ! ” says 
Falco. He bends the head backwards and compels 
him to open his mouth. The stone lies far in under 
the teeth-membrane, and Falco tries to poke it out. 
Then the dog bites him, so that blood flows. 

Falco becomes frightened. He goes in to Donna 
Silvia. “ I trust your dog is sound ? ” he says. 

“ My dog, I have no dog. It is dead.” — “ But 
the one running out there.” — “ I do not know which 
one you mean,” she says. 

Falco says no more, neither does he harm Donna 
Silvia. He only goes his way. He is afraid. He 
thinks that the dog is mad and that he himself will 
now have hydrophobia. 


One evening Donna Micaela sits alone in the 
music-room. She has extinguished the lamp and 
opened the balcony doors. She likes to listen to the 
street at evening and at night. Then blacksmiths, 


FALCO FALCONE 


313 


stone-polishers and heralds are heard there no more. 
Then there is song, laughter, whispers and man- 
dolins. 

Suddenly she sees a dark hand laid on the balcony 
rail. The hand draws up after it an arm and a head. 
In a moment a whole body swings itself down on the 
balcony. She sees him quite well, for the street- 
lamps are still burning. It is a short, broad-shoul- 
dered, great-bearded fellow. He is dressed like a 
shepherd, he has leather-sandals, slouch-hat and 
umbrella, strapped to his back. The moment he is 
on his feet he snatches a gun from his shoulder and, 
holding it between his hands, enters the room. 

She sits still without giving a sign of life. There is 
no time either to fly or to call for help. She hopes 
that the man will take what he wants and go away 
without noticing her, as she sits far down in the dark 
room. The man puts down his gun between his 
knees, and she hears him light a match. She closes 
her eyes. He may believe that she is asleep. 

As the robber strikes the light, he sees her imme- 
diately. He coughs to awaken her. As she continues 
motionless he steals along quietly, and cautiously 
stretches out one finger towards her arm. “ Do not 
touch me, do not touch me,” she screams, and can 
no longer sit still. The man retreats instantly. 
“ Dear Donna Micaela, I only wished to wake 
you.” 

She sits there trembling with fright, and he hears 
how she sobs. — “ Dear signora, dear signora,” he 
says. “ Light the lamp that I may see where you 
are,” she cries. He strikes fire to another match, 
lifts the shade and chimney off the lamp and lights 


3 14 THE miracles of antichrist 

it as cleverly as a valet. Afterward he places him- 
self by the door, as far from her as possible. All of 
a sudden, he goes out on the balcony with his gun. 
“ Now surely the signora need not be afraid.” 

But as she does not cease crying he says : “ Signora, 
I am Passafiore, the nephew, I come with a message 
to you from Falco. He no longer desires to destroy 
your railroad.” 

“ Have you come to jest with me ? ” she says. 

Then the man answers almost crying : “ Would to 
God that this were jest ! Would to God that Falco 
were the same as he has been ! ” 

He relates how Falco had ascended Mongibello 
and adorned its top. But the mountain had not 
liked this, and now it had felled Falco. One single 
little pumice-stone from Mongibello had been suffi- 
cient to strike down the feared one. 

“ Now all is over with Falco,” says Passafiore. He 
wanders down in the quarry expecting to be sick. 
For eight days he has neither slept nor eaten. He 
is not sick yet, but the wound in his hand does not 
heal. He believes that he has the poison in his 
blood. ‘ Soon I shall be a mad dog,’ he says. There 
is no food nor wine that will tempt him. He derives 
no pleasure from my extolling his deeds. — ‘ What is 
that to talk about,’ he says. ‘ I shall end my life as 
a mad dog.’ ” 

Donna Micaela looks sharply at Passafiore. — “ What 
do you wish me to do about this? You surely do 
not mean that I shall go down into the quarry to 
Falco Falcone?” 

Passafiore looks down and dares not answer. 

She explains to him what Falco has made her suf- 


FALCO FALCONE 3 1 5 

fer. He has frightened away her laborers. He has 
thwarted her dearest wishes. 

Suddenly Passafiore falls on his knees. He dare 
not approach one step nearer to her than he is, yet 
he falls on his knees. 

He begs that she will see how much there is at 
stake. She does not know, she does not understand 
who Falco is. Falco is a great man. Ever since 
Passafiore was a little child, he has heard about him. 
All his life he has longed to go to the quarry and live 
with him. All his cousins went to him, the whole 
family lived with him. But the rector had made up 
his mind that Passafiore should not go. He made a 
tailor of him ; only think, a tailor ! He talked with 
him and told him not to go. It was such a dreadful 
sin to live like Falco. Passafiore had struggled against 
the temptation for many years for Don Matteo’s sake. 
But, at last, he could no longer resist, he had gone to 
the quarry. And now he has not been permitted to 
live with Falco one year, before the latter is quite a 
wreck. It is as if the sun had become extinct in the 
heavens. His whole life has become desolate. 

Passafiore looks over to Donna Micaela. He sees 
that she listens and understands him. 

He reminds Donna Micaela that she has helped a 
jettatore, and an adulteress. Why should she be 
hard towards a robber ? Did not the Christ-image in 
San Pasquale’s give her everything she asked for? 
He was certain that she had asked the Christ-child to 
protect the railroad against Falco. And it had obeyed 
her; it had suffered Mongibellos pumice-stone to 
break Falco’s strength. But now, would she not now 
be gracious and help them, so that Falco might get 


3 16 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

back his health and become an honor to the country, 
as he had been before ? 

Passafiore succeeds in moving Donna Micaela. All 
at once it becomes clear to her the condition of the 
aged robber down in the dark caves of the quarry. 
She sees him wandering about expecting to become 
mad. She remembers how proud he has been, and 
how broken down and crushed he now is. No, no, 
no one ought to suffer so. It is too much, too much. 

“ Passafiore,” she exclaims, “ speak ! What is it you 
wish ? I will do whatever I can. I am no longer afraid. 
No, I am not at all afraid.” 

“ Donna Micaela we have begged Falco to go to 
the Christ-image and ask for grace. But Falco will 
not believe in the image. He will do nothing but 
sit still and wait for his ruin. But to-day when I im- 
plored him to go and pray, he said: ‘You know 
who sits waiting for me in the old house opposite the 
church. Go to her and ask her if she will give me 
liberty to go by her into the church. If she permits 
that I will believe in the image and make my prayer 
before it ! ” 

“ Well ? ” asked Donna Micaela. 

“ I have been to the aged Caterina, and she has 
given her permission. ‘ He shall be allowed to pass 
into the church of San Pasquale, without my striking 
him down/ she said.” 

Passafiore still remains on his knees. 

“ Has Falco then been in the church ? ” asked 
Donna Micaela. 

Passafiore moves somewhat nearer. He wrings his 
hands in despair. “ Donna Micaela, Falco is very 
ill. It is not only the effect of the dog bite, he was 


FALCO FALCONE 


317 


ill before.” And Passafiore struggles with himself 
before he can speak out. At length he admits that, 
although Falco is a very great man, he has at times 
attacks of insanity. And now he had not only spoken 
of the aged Caterina, but had said like this : “ If 
Caterina will allow me to pass into the church, and if 
Donna Micaela Alagona comes down into the quarry 
and stretches out her hand and leads me to the church, 
then I will go to the image.” And from this he will 
not swerve. Donna Micaela, who was the best and 
holiest among women, should come to him, else he 
would not go. 

When Passafiore has finished, he holds his head 
continually bowed down. He dares not look up. 

But Donna Micaela does not hesitate a moment 
after mention has been made of the Christ-image. 
She does not seem to consider that Falco is insane. 
She does not say a word about how afraid she is. 
Her trust in the image is such, that she answers gently 
as a vanquished and obedient child : 

“ Passafiore, I will accompany you.” 

Afterwards, she follows him as though she were 
walking in her sleep. She does not hesitate to ascend 
Etna with him. She does not hesitate to climb down 
the steep rocky wall of the quarry. She advances, 
quite pale, yet with beautiful beaming eyes to the 
aged robber in his cave, and holds out to him her 
hand. And he rises as ghastly pale as she, and fol- 
lows her. It is as if they were not human beings but 
specters. They proceed toward their goal in perfect 
silence. Their own being is dead, but a mightier 
spirit leads and guides them. 

The next day it all seems to Donna Micaela like a 


3 18 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

fairy-tale. She is positive that her own compassion, 
or pity, or love could not have prevailed upon her to 
go down into the robber’s den at night had not a 
strange power led her. She has been wholly beside 
herself. 

While Donna Micaela is down in the robber’s cave, 
old Caterina sits at her window and waits for Falco. 
She has yielded almost without entreaty. 

“ He shall be free to pass into the church,” she 
says. “ I have been expecting him for twenty years, 
yet he shall be free to pass into the church.” 

Soon Falco comes with Donna Micaela’s hand in 
his Passafiore and Biagio follow him. Falco walks 
bent ; it is seen that he is old and weak. He alone 
enters the church, the others remain outside. 

The aged Caterina has seen him quite distinctly 
yet she has not moved. She sits silent all the time. 
Falco is in the church. Her niece, who lives with 
her, believes that she is praying and thanking God 
that she has been able to overcome her thirst for 
vengeance. 

At length Caterina requests her to open the win- 
dow. “ I wish to see if he still has the snake shadow,” 
she says. But she is kind and gentle. 

“Take the gun, if you wish,” she says. And the 
niece moves the gun over to the other side of the 
table. 

At last Falco comes out of the church. The 
moonlight falls directly in his face, and Caterina 
sees that he is unlike the Falco she remembered. 
The old surliness and pride are no longer visible in 
his features. He comes bowed and broken. He 
almost fills her with pity. 


FALCO FALCONE 


319 


“ He will help me,” he says out loud to Passafiore 
and Biagio. “ The Christ-child has promised to 
help me.” 

The robbers wish to go, but Falco is so glad, that 
first of all he must talk with them about his happiness. 

“ I feel no buzzing in my head, no pain, no anx- 
iety. He is helping me.” 

The comrades take him by the hand to lead him 
away. Falco walks a few steps then he stops again. 
He straightens himself up and at the same time 
moves his body so that the snake-shadow turns and 
twists on the road. 

“ Quite well, I shall be quite well,” he says. 

The men pull him along, but it is too late. 

Caterina’s eyes have fallen on the snake-shadow. 
She can no longer control herself. She throws herself 
across the table, takes the gun and fires it off. And 
she kills Falco. She probably had not intended to 
do it, but when she saw him, it was impossible for 
her to allow him to pass. For twenty years she had 
nourished the thought of revenge. That gained the 
power over her. 

“ Caterina, Caterina,” cried her niece. 

“ He only begged me to be free to pass into the 
church,” answered Caterina. 

The aged Biagio lays Falco’s remains to rights 
and says with a grim mien. 

“ Quite well, he would be quite well ! ” 


320 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


XI 

VICTORY 

Far back in the olden times there lived in Sicily 
the great philosopher Empedokles. He was the 
most beautiful and most perfect of men, so glorious 
and wise that one believed him to be a god. 

Empedokles owned a country-place on Etna, and 
one evening he made a feast there for his friends. 
During the feast he spoke such words that they cried 
out to him, “ Thou art a god : Empedokles, thou art 
a god ! ” 

During the night, Empedokles thought : “ Thou 
hast now attained unto the highest possible on earth. 
Now thou shouldst die, before adversity and weak- 
ness come upon thee.” And he wandered up to 
Etna’s top and threw himself down into the burning 
crater. “ When no one finds my body,” he thought, 
“ they will say that I have been taken up alive 
among the gods.” 

The following morning however, his friends sought 
him all over the villa and over the whole mountain. 

They also came up to the crater, and there at the 
mouth they found Empedokles’ shoe. And they 
understood that Empedokles had sought death in 
the crater in order to be numbered among the im- 
mortals. 

And he would have succeeded in that as well, had 
not the mountain thrown up his shoe. 


VICTORY 


321 


Just on account of this story, Empedokles’ name 
has never been forgotten, and many have wondered 
where his villa could have been situated. Archae- 
ologists and diggers for treasures have sought it be- 
cause the villa of the illustrious one was naturally 
filled with marble statues, bronzes and mosaics. 

Donna Micaela’s father, Cavaliere Palmeri, had 
made up his mind that he should solve the problem 
about the villa. Every morning he mounted his 
pony Domenico, and rode off to seek it. He was 
equipped like a researcher, with scraper in the belt, 
spade at the side and a large knapsack on his back. 

Every evening, when Cavaliere Palmeri came 
home, he related for Donna Micaela about Domen- 
ico. During these years, which they had ridden 
about on Etna, Domenico had developed into an 
archaeologist. Domenico turned off from the road 
as soon as he espied a ruin. He stamped on the 
ground on those places where he considered re- 
searches should be made. He sniffed contemptu- 
ously and turned away his head if shown a counterfeit 
old coin. 

Donna Micaela listened with great patience and 
interest. She was certain that in case that villa suf- 
fered itself to be found eventually, Domenico would 
have the honor of the discovery. 

But Cavaliere Palmeri never asked his daughter 
about her enterprise. He never showed any interest 
in the railroad. It was almost as though he was ig- 
norant of her being at work upon it. 

That was not strange though, he never showed 
interest in anything which concerned his daughter. 

One day, as they both were sitting at the dinner, 
21 


322 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

table, Donna Micaela began suddenly to speak of 
the railroad. 

She had won a victory, she said. She had at last 
won a victory. 

He must hear what news she had received to-day. 
It would not be a steam-tramway only between Cata- 
nia and Diamante, as she had first imagined it would 
be a railroad all around the whole of Etna. 

Through Falco’s death, she had not only gotten 
rid of Falco himself, but now the people also believed 
that the great Mongibello and all the saints stood on 
her side. And so there had arisen among the people 
a movement to get the railroad started. Contribu- 
tions were being made in all the Etna towns. A 
company was formed. A concession had come to- 
day. To-morrow work would begin in earnest. 

Donna Micaela was excited. She could not eat. 
Her heart swelled with joy and gratefulness. She 
could not leave off speaking about the great enthusi- 
asm which had seized the people. She spoke with tears 
in her eyes about the Christ-child in San Pasquale’s. 

It was affecting to see how her face beamed with 
hope. It was as if, in addition to that happiness 
she was speaking of, she had a whole world of bliss 
in anticipation. 

That night she felt that Providence had ordered 
well and happily for her. She saw that Gaetano’s 
imprisonment had been God’s doing, in order to lead 
him back to faith. He should be released through 
the miracles of the little image, and that would con- 
vert him, so that he should become a believer as be- 
fore. A&t she should be permitted to belong to 
him. How good God was ! 


VICTORY 


323 


And whilst this great bliss was surging through 
her, her father sat opposite her, perfectly stiff and 
indifferent. 

“ Why, that is quite remarkable,” was all he 
said. 

“ I suppose you would like to be present to-mor- 
row at the foundation feast ? ” 

“ I hardly know. I have my researches.” 

Donna Micaela began crumbling her bread to 
pieces somewhat impetuously. Her patience was at 
an end. He had been spared taking any share in 
her sorrows, but her joy ! He must share her joy ! 

And all at once the bond of submissiveness and 
fear burst, which had bound her ever since his im- 
prisonment. 

“ You, that travel so much on Etna,” she said in 
a very gentle voice, “ have, no doubt, visited 
Gela? ” 

The Cavaliere looked up and seemed to search in 
his memory. “Gela, Gela?” 

“ Gela is a village of about one hundred houses, 
lying on the south side of Monte Chiaro, close by 
its foot,” continued Donna Micaela with a most in- 
nocent mien. “ It lies wedged in between Simeto 
and the mountain wall, and an arm of the river most 
frequently takes its course through Gela’s street, so 
that one very rarely is able to get through the vil- 
lage dry-shod. The roof of the church fell in at the 
last earthquake, and has not been repaired, because 
Gela is impoverished. Have you really not heard 
about Gela? ” 

Cavaliere Palmeri answered with inr 1 scribable 
earnestness : “ My researches have taken me further 


324 the miracles of antichrist 

up the mountain. It has not occurred to me to 
seek the great philosopher’s villa in Gela.” 

“ But Gela is an interesting city,” said Donna 
Micaela persistently. “ They have no special out- 
houses there. The swine live on the ground floor, 
the people one story above. They have also an in- 
finitude of swine in Gela. They thrive there better 
than the people, for the people are almost always 
sick. Fever prevails continually, the malaria does 
not leave it. It is so damp that the cellars are 
always under water, and the marsh-mists envelop it 
every night. In Gela there are no shops, neither 
police, mail, doctor, nor apothecary. Six hundred 
people live there, quite forgotten and barbarized. — 
You have never heard of Gela, then ? ” 

She looked so honestly surprised. Cavaliere Pal- 
meri shook his head. “ The name, I presume, I 
have heard ” 

Donna Micaela cast a penetrating glance at her 
father. Thereupon she bent quickly towards him, 
and drew out of his breast-pocket a small curved 
knife, such a knife as is used in pruning vines. 

“ Poor Empedokles,” she said, and at the same 
time her whole face sparkled with roguishness. 
“ One believes oneself ascended to the gods, but 
Etna always throws up one’s shoe.” 

Cavaliere Palmeri collapsed as from a shot. 

“ Micaela,” he said, with a faint attempt at ward- 
ing off, like one who does not know how he shall 
defend himself. 

But she was instantly just as serious and innocent 
as a minute ago. “ I have been told,” she said, 
“that a few years ago Gela was almost perishing. 


VICTORY 


325 


All the people are vine-growers, and when the phyl- 
loxera came and destroyed their vineyards, they 
nearly perished of hunger. Agricultural societies 
sent them a species of American plants which are 
not affected by the phylloxera. The people of Gela 
put out these, but all the plants died. How should 
the Gela people know how to take care of American 
vines ? Well, then some one came and taught them 
how." 

“ Micaela,” it came almost like a moan. Donna 
Micaela thought that her father already looked like 
a vanquished man, but she continued, as though she 
had not noticed anything. 

“ Some one came" she said, with strong em- 
phasis, “ and he had sent for new plants. He began 
to set them out in their vineyards. They laughed 
at him, they said that he acted foolishly. But his 
plants thrived and lived ; they did not die. And he 
has saved Gela.” 

“ I do not think this story entertaining, Micaela/' 
said Cavaliere Palmeri, attempting to stop her. 

“ It is just as entertaining as archaeology,” she 
said calmly. “ But I will tell you something. One 
day I went into your room to obtain a book about 
archaeology. I then found that your whole book- 
shelf was full of treatises on phylloxera, about grape- 
cultivation and wine-making.” 

The cavaliere writhed in his chair like a trampled 
worm. “ Be quiet, be quiet,” he said faintly. He 
was more embarrassed than when he was accused of 
stealing. 

But now all the smothered roguishness flashed 
forth again in her eyes. 


326 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

“ I sometimes looked at the letters you sent off,” 
she continued. “ I wanted to see with what learned 
men you corresponded. It surprised me that the 
letters were always addressed to the presidents and 
secretaries of agricultural societies.” 

The cavaliere was unable to utter a word. Donna 
Micaela enjoyed more than any one can tell to see 
him so powerless. 

She looked him steadily in the eyes. “ I do not 
believe that Domenico has yet learned to know a 
ruin,” she said emphatically. “ The dirty youngsters 
in Gela, it is said, play daily with him, and feed him 
with water-cresses. Domenico, it seems, is a god in 
Gela, not to speak of his ” 

Cavaliere Palmeri seemed to get an idea. 

“Your railroad,” he said, “what did you say 
about your railroad ? Perhaps I can come to-mor- 
row.” 

Donna Micaela did not listen to him. She took 
up her pocket-book. 

“ I have a counterfeit old coin,” she said. “ A 
Demarata of nickel. I bought it to show Domenico. 
He will sniff at it.” 

“ Now listen, child.” 

She did not listen to these attempts at penance. 
Now the power was hers. Now it required more 
than that to reconcile her. 

“ Once I opened your knapsack to look at your 
archaic-treasures. All I found there was a piece of 
an old vine.” 

She sparkled with merriment and fun. 

“ Child, child ! ” 

“ What shall one call this ? It certainly can’t be 


VICTORY 327 

archaeology. Is it perhaps charity, is it perhaps 
penance ” 

Cavaliere Palmeri now struck his hand on the 
table, so that glasses and plates jumped. This be- 
came too painful. A stiff and solemn elderly gentle- 
man could not stand such sport. “ As surely as you 
are my daughter, you will be silent now.” 

“Your daughter,” she said, and all fun was in- 
stantly gone, “am I really your daughter? The 
children in Gela are at least allowed to caress Dom- 
enico, but I ” 

“ What do you wish, Micaela, what do you desire ? ” 

They looked at each other, and their eyes filled 
simultaneously with tears. 

“ I have no one but you,” she murmured. 

Cavaliere Palmeri opened his arms to her. She 
rose lingeringly, she could hardly believe her eyes. 

“ I know how it will be,” he said grumblingly, 
“ not a minute shall I have for myself.” 

“To discover the villa?” 

“Come and kiss me, Micaela! To-night for the 
first time since we left Catania, you are fascinating.” 

When she threw her arms around him, it was with 
a hoarse, wild cry, which almost frightened him. 


BOOK III 


“ And he shall gain many followers.” 


I 

THE OASIS AND THE DESERT 

It was in the spring of 1894, that the Etna rail- 
road was begun, in the autumn of 1895 it was finished. 
It rose from the sea-shore, encompassed the moun- 
tain in a wide semicircle and came back to the sea- 
shore. 

The trains run every day, and Mongibello lies 
vanquished and suffers it to pass. Strangers journey 
amazed through the black, distorted lava-streams, 
through the white almond-groves, through the dark 
old Saracen-towns. “ Lo, only think that such a 
country exists upon the earth ! ” they say. 

In the coupes some one is always telling about the 
time when the Christ-image was in Diamante. 

What a time, what a time ! Every day the image 
worked new miracles. One cannot tell of them all, 
but he made it so bright in Diamante as if the mo- 
ments of the day had been dancing maidens. One 
fancied that Time had filled the hour-glass with glit 
tering gold sand. 

Had any one asked who it was that reigned in 
328 


THE OASIS AND THE DESERT 329 

Diamante at that time, the answer would have been 
that it was the Christ-image. Everything was done 
according to its will. No one took a wife, or played 
at the lottery, or built a house without consulting it. 

Many a stab was not dealt for the sake of the 
image, and many an old feud became settled, and 
many a bitter word remained unspoken. 

One must be good, because it was noticed that 
the image aided those that were peaceful and help- 
ful. For them it procured good gifts of joy and 
prosperity. 

Now if the world had been, as it should be, Dia- 
mante would soon have become a great and powerful 
city. But instead, that part of the world that did 
not believe in the image destroyed all its works. 
It availed not how many blessings it scattered 
about. 

The taxes kept growing continually and taking 
away with it all wealth. And then there was the 
war in Africa. How could any one be happy, when 
their sons, money, and donkeys had to go to Africa ? 
And the war there went badly, defeat upon defeat. 
How could any one be happy when the country’s 
honor was at stake ? 

Above all it was after the railroad had been fin- 
ished that it became noticed that Diamante was 
like an oasis in a great desert. The oasis is exposed 
to the flying sand of the desert, and robbers and wild 
animals. So also Diamante. The oasis ought to 
spread itself out over the whole desert in order to 
be secure. Diamante began to think that it could 
not be happy until the whole world worshiped its 
image of Christ. 


330 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


Now it turned out that everything Diamante hoped 
for and aspired to was denied it. 

Thus Donna Micaela and all Diamante longed to 
get back Gaetano. When the railroad was ready 
Donna Micaela departed for Rome, and begged for 
his release, but it was denied her. The king and the 
queen would gladly have helped her, but they could 
not. You know who was then minister. He ruled 
Italy with an iron hand. Do you suppose he allowed 
the king to pardon a rebellious Sicilian ? 

It was also heartily wished that Diamante’s Christ- 
child should receive the worship which was due it, 
and therefore Donna Micaela sought audience with 
the aged man at the Vatican. “ Holy Father,” she 
said, “ let me relate to you what has taken place in 
Diamante on the slope of Etna ! ” And after she 
had told about all the image’s miracles, she begged 
that the pope would have the old church of San Pas- 
quale cleansed and consecrated and a priesthood in- 
stituted there for the Christ-child’s cult. But Donna 
Micaela was refused in the Vatican as in the Quirinal. 

“ Dear Princess Micaela,” said the pope, “ the 
church dares not consider these events of which you 
speak as miracles. Still you need in nowise despair. 
If the Christ-child wishes to be worshiped in your 
city, it will make still another sign. It will manifest 
to Us its will so plainly, that We need not hesitate. 
And forgive an old man, my daughter, because he 
must be cautious ! ” 

A third thing was hoped for in Diamante, some- 
thing, some word from Gaetano. Donna Micaela 
went to Como, where he was kept a prisoner. She 
had with her letters of recommendation from per- 


THE OASIS AND THE DESERT 


331 


sons of the highest authority in Rome, and she felt 
sure that she should be permitted to speak with him. 
But the prison-director sent her to the prison-doctor. 

The latter forbade her to speak to Gaetano. 

“You wish to see that prisoner,” he said. “ You 
cannot. You say that he loves you and thinks 
you dead. Let him think so ! He is reconciled to 
die. He suffers no more from longing. Do you 
wish him to learn that you are living, so that he shall 
begin to long? You wish to kill him then? I will 
tell you something ; should he begin to long for 
the world he will be dead within three months. 

He spoke in such a manner that Donna Micaela 
understood that she must give up seeing Gaetano. 
But what a disappointment, what a disappointment ! 

When she came home, she felt as one who had 
dreamed so vividly that not even after he has waked 
is he able to come out of his dreams. She could not 
conceive that all her hopes had been defeated. She 
surprised herself again and again by thinking like 
this : “ When I have rescued Gaetano.” But now 
she had no hope of saving him. 

She thought now of one enterprise, now of an- 
other, which she wished to start. Should she ditch 
around the plain, or should she mine marble on 
Etna ? She hesitated and wondered. She could not 
adhere to anything. 

The same listlessness, which had seized Donna 
Micaela, crept over the whole city. It became ap- 
parent that everything which was dependent on 
people who did not believe on Diamante’s image of 
Christ, was badly managed and proved a failure. 

Even the Etna railroad was managed improperly. 


332 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

Accidents happened continually in the steep ascents. 
And the prices of tickets were too high. People 
began to have recourse to omnibus and cart again. 

Donna Micaela and others commenced to think of 
taking the image of Christ out into the world. They 
would go out and show how it gave health and liveli- 
hood and gladness to all who would be gentle and 
industrious and help their neighbor. If the people 
were duly made to see this they surely would re- 
pent. 

“ That image should stand on Capitolium and rule 
the world,” said the people in Diamante. 

“All who rule us are worthless,” said the people. 
" We would rather be governed by the holy Christ- 
child.” 

“ The Christ-child is mighty and benevolent ; if it 
reigned, the poor would be rich, and the rich have 
enough. If it bore sway, then they who now are 
ruled would sit in the council-chambers. It would 
pass through the world like a plow with a sharp edge, 
and that which now lies unproductive in the depths, 
would then yield harvests. 

However before these plans were achieved there 
arrived, during the first days of March, 1896, news of 
the battle of Adna. The Italians had been beaten, 
and several thousands of them were dead or prisoners. 

A few days later there was a change in the cabinet 
in Rome. And the man who now came into power, 
feared the Sicilians’ wrath and despair. In order to 
pacify them he had a few of the imprisoned socialists 
released. The five whom it was thought the people 
most longed for were set free. They were Da Felice, 
Bosco, Verro, Barbato and Alagona. 


THE OASIS AND THE DESERT 333 

Ah, Donna Micaela tried to be glad when she 
learned this. She tried not to weep. 

She had believed that Gaetano was in prison in 
order that the Christ-image might break down his 
prison-walls. He was brought thither by God’s 
grace, that he might be compelled to bow his head 
before the Christ-child and say : “ My Lord and my 
God.” 

But now it was not the image that had delivered 
him. He would come out the same heathen as be- 
fore. The same yawning cleft would always be 
between them. 

She endeavored to be glad. Was it not enough 
that he was free ? What signified his and her happi- 
ness in comparison with that ! 

But thus it happened with everything which Dia- 
mante had hoped and striven for. 

The big desert was very cruel towards the poor 
oasis. 


334 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


II 

IN PALERMO 

At last, at last, it is one o’clock in the night. 
They that are afraid of oversleeping leave their beds, 
dress and go out into the street. 

And they that have been sitting at the cafe table 
until now rush up on hearing steps on the pavement. 
They shake off drowsiness and hurry out. They 
mingle in the fast growing throng and the sluggish 
hours begin to pass on a little faster. Slightly ac- 
quainted people press each other’s hands fervently. 
And the most uncommon people are out, old uni- 
versity professors, and haughty nobles and grand 
ladies, who never set their foot on the street. They 
are all equally glad. 

“ O God, to think that he is coming, that Palermo 
will now get him back ! ” they say. 

The Palermo students, who have not left their 
usual headquarters in Quattro Canti during the 
whole night, have provided themselves with torch- 
lights and colored lanterns. They were not to be 
lit until about four o’clock, when the expected one 
should arrive, but towards two o’clock one after the 
other begins to try if his torch burns well. Then 
they light them all with shouts of vivat. It is im- 
possible to remain in the dark when so much joy 
burns within one. 


IN PALERMO 


335 


At the hotels the travelers are awakened and ex- 
horted to rise. “ There’s a feast in Palermo to-night, 
O signori ! ” 

The travelers ask for whom. “For one of the 
socialists, whom the government has set at liberty. 
He is coming this morning on the steamboat from 
Naples.” — “ What sort of a man is he ? ” — “ His 
name is Bosco, and the people love him.” 

Such busy-making everywhere in the night for the 
sake of the expected one. One of the goatherds on 
Monte Pellegrino is making small bouquets of daisies 
which his goats are to carry in their collar. And he 
has one hundred goats, and all have collars. . . . But 
it must be done. His goats could not enter Palermo 
the next morning without being decorated in honor 
of the day. 

The seamstresses have had to sit at their Work 
until midnight in order to finish all the new gowns 
to be worn that morning. And when a little seam- 
stress has finished working for others, she has to 
begin to think of herself. She puts a couple of 
plumes in her hat, and raises the knot of ribbon 
about a foot. To-day she must look pretty. 

Long rows of houses begin to be illuminated. 
Here and there a rocket ascends. Bombs hiss and 
explode at every street corner. 

The florists along the Via Vittorio Emanuele have 
their stores emptied again and again. There is a 
constant demand for more of the white orange- 
blossoms. All Palermo is filled with their deli- 
cious perfume. 

The porter in Bosco’s house has not a moment’s 
rest. Magnificent cakes and pyramidal bouquets 


336 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

are taken up the stairs incessantly. And there come 
salutary poems and congratulatory telegrams. It 
will never end. 

The poor bronze emperor on Piazza Bologna, the 
poor homely Charles the Fifth, who is thin and 
wretched as San Giovanni in the desert, has in some 
incomprehensible way a bouquet in his hand. 

When the students standing on Quattro Canti 
close by, hear of this, they march up to the emperor 
in orderly procession, illumine him with their torches 
and raise a cheer for the old despot. And one of 
them takes charge of the bouquet to deliver it to the 
great socialist. 

Then the students march down to the harbor. 

Long before they arrive there, their torches are 
burned out, but what do they care ! They come 
with their arms about each other’s necks, loudly 
singing, and ever and anon breaking off the song to 
cry : “ Down with Crispi ! Long live Bosco ! ” So 
the song begins anew, but is again interrupted, be- 
cause they who cannot sing throw their arms about 
the singers and kiss them. 

Fraternities and guilds throng from quarters of 
the town where the same trade has been conducted 
for more than a thousand years. There come the 
masons with band and banner, there come the 
mosaic-workers, there come the fishermen. 

When they meet they salute each other with the 
banners. Sometimes they stop and make speeches. 
They speak for the five who have been set free ; the 
five martyrs that the government has at last given 
back to Sicily. And the whole throng of people 
cries: “Long live Bosco! Long live Da Felice! 


IN PALERMO 337 

Long live Verro! Long live Barbato ! Long live 
Alagona ! ” 

But if some one who has had enough of the life on 
the streets comes down to the harbor of Palermo he 
stops and asks : “ What place is this ? Madonna 
Santissima, where have I come ? ” 

Because he has expected that the harbor would 
still be dark and desolate. 

But all boats and sloops in Palermo’s harbor have 
been taken by various parties and societies. They 
drift about in the harbor, richly hung with Venetian 
lanterns, and at every moment great rocket-bouquets 
are sent up from them. Over the rough thwarts 
rich rugs and draperies have been spread, and on 
these sit the ladies, the beautiful Palermo ladies, 
dressed in light silk and rich velvet. 

The small crafts glide about in the water, now in 
large clusters, now separating from each other. 
From the large ships the masts and yards rise full of 
streamers and lanterns, and the small harbor steamers 
dart along over the water, their funnels wound with 
flowers. And underneath everything lies the water 
glittering, mirroring, reflecting, so that the light from 
one lantern becomes a whole stream of light, and the 
drops which fall from the oars become dripping 
gold. 

But round about the harbor stand one hundred 
thousand, one hundred and fifty thousand people, 
quite giddy with joy. They kiss each other, they 
raise cries of delight and they are glad, glad. They 
are beside themselves with joy. There are many 
who feel that they must weep. 

Ah, fire, that is joy. It is well that one can kindle 
22 


338 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

fires. All of a sudden a big blaze glares on the top 
of Monte Pellegrino, directly above the harbor. 
Afterwards immense flames rise from the whole 
jagged mountain wall, which surrounds the city. 
It flames on Monte Falcone, on San Martino, on 
the mountain of The Thousand, where Garibaldi 
came marching. 

But far out on the sea sails the great Naples 
steamer, and on it is Bosco, the socialist. 

He cannot sleep. He has gone up out of his cab- 
in and is strolling back and forth on the deck. His 
old mother, who has journeyed to Naples to meet 
him, comes up from her berth to keep him company. 
But he is unable to talk to her. His heart beats fast 
at the thought of soon being home. Ah, Palermo, 
Palermo ! 

He has sat in prison for more than two years ! 
They have been years of longing and anguish. And 
has it been of any use ? That is what he wants to 
know. Has any benefit been derived from his hav- 
ing been faithful to the cause and gone to prison ? 
Has Palermo thought of him ? Has his suffering 
gained for the cause a single adherent ? 

His aged mother sits crouching on the cabin steps 
and shivers in the night chill. He has asked her, 
but she knows nothing. She tells about the little 
Francisco and the little Lina, how they have grown. 
She knows nothing of what he is struggling for. 

But now he comes forward to his mother, takes 
her by the wrist, leads her to the railing and asks 
her if she sees anything far over there in the south. 
She looks out over the sea with her dim eyes and 
sees only the night, only the black night on the sea. 


in Palermo 339 

She does not see that a cloud of fire hovers above 
the horizon. 

So he begins to walk back and forth again, and 
she creeps back under shelter. There is no need of 
his speaking to her, it is joy enough to have him 
home again after two years’ absence. He was sen- 
tenced to be away twenty-four. She had not ex- 
pected to see him more. But now the king has par- 
doned him. For the king is a good man. Were he 
only permitted to be as good as he would like to be. 

Bosco crosses the deck and asks one of the seamen 
if they do not see the gold-cloud yonder at the 
horizon. 

‘‘That is Palermo,” answered the seamen. “At 
night there is always a light cloud like that hover- 
ing over it.” 

It cannot be anything that concerns him. He 
wishes to familiarize himself with the thought that 
nothing is done for him. He cannot expect that all 
shall have become socialists at once. 

Yet after a while he thinks something unusual 
must be going on. All the seamen assemble in the 
foreship. 

“ Palermo is on fire,” the seamen say. 

Lo, it could very well be so. — It is because he 
has suffered so terribly, that he expects that some- 
thing should be done for him. 

But then the seamen spy the fires on the moun- 
tains. 

It cannot be a conflagration. It must be a festi- 
val of some saint. They ask each other what the 
name of the day is. 

He also tries to believe that it is something of 


340 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


that sort. He asks his mother if it is a feast-day. 
They have so many of them. 

They come nearer and nearer. The din of festivi- 
ties in the great city reaches their ear. 

“All Palermo sings and plays to-night,” some one 
says. 

“ A telegram must have arrived about a victory in 
Africa,” says another. 

It does not occur to any one that it can be for his 
sake. He takes his place in the stern in order not to 
see anything. He does not wish to delude himself 
with hopes. Should all Palermo illumine for a 
poor socialist ? 

Then his mother comes and fetches him. “ Don’t 
stand there ! Come and look at Palermo ! It must 
be a king that is coming to-day. Come and look at 
Palermo ! ” 

He reflects. No, he does not believe that any king 
is visiting Sicily just now. But how can he dare to 
believe, when no one else, not even his mother. 

All at once the people on the steamer give a loud 
cry. It sounds almost like a cry of distress. A 
large pleasure-yacht has borne straight down upon 
them and now glides along the steamer’s side. 

The whole yacht is flowers and light. Across the 
railing hang red and white silk draperies. All the 
people on board are dressed in red and white. Bos- 
co stands on the steamer trying to detect what this 
beautiful messenger is bringing. The sail veers 
round and on its white surface there flashes before 
his eyes : “ Long live Bosco ! ” 

It is his name. Not a saint’s, not a king’s, 
not the victorious general’s! The homage con- 


IN PALERMO 


341 

cerns none other on the steamer. His name, his 
name ! 

The pleasure-yacht throws up a few rockets. A 
whole heaven of stars rains down. Then it is gone. 

He enters the harbor. And there is exultation, 
adoration, enthusiasm and cheers. The people 
say : “ We do not know how he will be able to live 
through it ” 

But as soon as the homage is there, he feels that 
he does not at all deserve it. He feels as if he would 
like to fall on his knees before these one hundred 
and fifty thousand people that render him homage 
and beg them to forgive, that he has done nothing 
for them, that he is incapable of doing anything for 
them. 

It so happened that Donna Micaela was in Paler- 
mo this night. She was there to set on foot one of 
those new undertakings which she considered she 
ought to start in order not to lose her senses. It was 
probably on account of the ditching or the marble- 
quarry that she was there. 

She, like all others, is down at the harbor. One 
notices her, where she makes her way down to the 
shore : a tall, dark woman with a noble bearing, a 
pale face with strong features and suppliant, longing, 
passionate eyes. 

While the reception progresses in the harbor a 
singular struggle within Donna Micaela’s breast is 
going on. “ Now if this were Gaetano,” she thinks, 
“ could I, could I . . 

“ If it were around him all these people rejoiced, 
could I . . . 


34^ THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

There is such joy, a joy, the like of which she has 
never beheld. The people love each other and are 
like brothers. And this is not only because a social- 
ist comes home, but because they all believe that 
the earth will soon be happy. “ If he came now, 
while this joy surges around her,” she thinks. 
“ Could I, could I . . .” 

She sees Bosco’s carriage trying to force its way 
through the throng. It moves slowly, step by step. 
Now and then it stands still. It will take several 
hours before it comes up from the harbor. 

“ If that were he, and I saw all crowding about 
him, could I then refrain from throwing myself in 
his arms ? Could I ? ” 

As soon as she is able to work her way out of the 
throng, she takes a carriage, rides out of Palermo 
through Conca d’Oro’s plain to the old dome of the 
Norman kings in Monreale. 

She enters there and stands face to face with the 
loveliest image of Christ that human skill has cre- 
ated. Highest up in the chancel sits the blessed 
Christ in radiant mosaic. He is mighty and mys- 
terious and majestic. Countless are they that 
journey to Monreale to receive the comfort of e- 
holding His face. Countless are they, who, in dis- 
tant countries, long to go to Him. 

The ground rocks under him who beholds the 
image for the first time. His eyes compel the 
stranger to bend the knee. Without knowing it, 
one’s lips stammer : “ Thou, God, art God.” 

Round about the temple-walls the events of the 
world glow in glorious mosaics. They only lead up 


IN PALERMO 


343 


to him. They are only there to say : “ All the past 
is his. The present belongs to him. And all the 
future likewise.” 

The secrets of life and death dwell within this 
head. 

There lives the spirit that governs the world’s 
destinies. There beams the love that shall lead the 
world to salvation. 

And Donna Micaela entreats him : “ Thou, God’s 
Son, separate me not from Thee ! Let no human 
being have power to separate me from Thee ! ” 


344 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


III 

THE COMING-HOME 

It is quite a wonderful thing to come home. 
While still on the journey it cannot be imagined 
that it will be so wonderful. On reaching Reggio, 
on the Messina Sound, Sicily is seen to rise out of 
the sea like a land of mist, and at first a feeling of 
impatience arises : “ Is that all? Why, that is just 
like all other countries.” 

And this impatience continues on stepping ashore 
in Messina. Something ought to have happened, 
happened while away. There should not be the 
same distress, the same tatters, the same misery, as 
on going away. 

It is seen well enough that the spring is come. 
The fig-trees bear leaves again, the vines send out 
tendrils that grow to be several feet in a few hours, 
and quantities of peas and beans are spread out on 
the fruit-stands in the harbor. 

Glancing up towards the heights above the city, 
the gray cactus is seen climbing along the edges 
of the rocks, covered with bright red flowers. They 
have burst forth everywhere, like bright little 
flames. 

Yet, however much the cactus may bloom, it 
stands there just as gray and dusty and cobwebby. 
And the thought comes that the cactus is like Sicily 


THE COMING-HOME 


345 


No matter how many springs will make it blossom, 
it is nevertheless always the gray land of poverty. 

It is difficult to understand that everything has re- 
mained quiet and the same. Why, Scylla and Charyb- 
dis should have commenced to roar as in former 
days. The stone giant in the Girgenti temple should 
have raised himself with joined limbs. Selinunto’s 
temple ought to have risen from out of its ruins. 
All Sicily should have awaked. 

Then, continuing from Messina down the coast, 
the feeling of impatience constantly continues. The 
peasants are still plowing with wooden plows, and 
their horses are just as thin and jaded. 

Yes, everything is the same. The sunshine falls 
down over the earth as a shower of colors; the 
geraniums bloom at the roadside ; the sea, a pale, 
light blue, lies caressing the shore. 

Wild mountains and bold peaks rise along the 
coast. Far in the distance a glimpse of Etna is 
caught. 

Suddenly, something marvelous seems to be 
taking place. There is no longer a feeling of im- 
patience. Instead there is rejoicing at the verdant 
earth, the mountains and the sea. One is restored 
to the fair earth as one of her lost possessions. 
There is no time to think of anything but knolls and 
stones. 

Finally you come in the vicinity of the real home, 
the home of your childhood. What wicked thoughts 
have you not had while you have been away? You 
wished never again to see this poor home, because 
you had suffered too much there. And now you 
behold the old mountain city in the distance, and it 


346 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

stands innocent and smiling, and is unconscious of 
any blame. “ Come and love me anew,” it says. 
And you cannot but be glad and grateful, because it 
is willing to receive your love. 

Ah, when you ascend the zig-zag road which leads 
to the city gate ! The thin shadow from the olive 
falls upon you. Was it not intended as a caress ? 
A little lizard rattles along over a wall. You must 
stop and look. May not that lizard be a friend from 
childhood who wishes to say how do you do ? 

All at once you become frightened. The heart 
begins to beat and bounce. You remember that 
you do not know what you will hear on coming 
home. You have written no letters and received 
none. Everything which reminded of home was 
cast away, rejected. That was thought to be the 
wisest, since you never more should be allowed to 
come home. And up to this moment everything 
connected with home has been dead and indif- 
ferent. 

But at this moment you do not know how you 
can bear it, if everything here on one’s native moun- 
tain is not wholly as it used to be. It will make 
your heart sore if Monte Chiaro has lost a palm, or 
if a single stone has got loose in the city wall. 

Will the large agave still be standing on its ledge? 
No, the agave is no longer there, it has bloomed and 
been cut down. And the stone bench at the bend 
of the road is broken. That bench you will miss, it 
used to be such a splendid resting-place. And lo, 
they have built a barn on the green spot under the 
almond-trees. You will never more be able to 
stretch yourself there on the blossoming clover. 


THE COMING-HOME 


34 ; 


You dread every step. What will come next ? 

You are so agitated, that should you hear that a 
single one of the old beggar-women has died during 
your absence you would feel like weeping. 

No, one did not know that it was so wonderful to 
come home. 

You came out of the prison a few weeks ago, and 
the prison torpor has clung to you. You hardly 
knew if you cared to go home. The beloved one 
was dead ; it was too dreadful to come home and 
tear up one’s regret out of the grave. So you 
wandered listlessly about and let the days go by. 
At length you took courage. You must go home to 
your poor mother. 

But no sooner there, before you feel that you have 
longed for every stone, for every blade of grass. 

Ever since he entered the shop Donna Elisa has 
been thinking : “ Now I will speak to him of Micaela. 
Perhaps he does not even know yet that she is living. 
But then she puts it off minute after minute. It 
is not only because she wishes to have him a while 
alone by herself. It is also because as soon as she 
mentions Micaela’s name, he will fall into woes of 
love and misery. For Micaela does not wish to 
marry him at all, that she has told Donna Elisa a 
thousand times. She wished to deliver him out of 
prison, but she does not wish to be the wife of an 
unbeliever. 

Donna Elisa wants to have him all by herself only 
half an hour, only half an hour. 

But for so long a time she will certainly not be 
allowed to sit with his hand in hers, asking him thou- 


348 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

sands of questions, for the people have now learned 
that he has come. Instantly the whole street is full 
of all those who wish to see him. Donna Elisa has 
locked the door because she well knew that she 
should not be left alone with him a moment after 
they had discovered him, but it does not greatly help. 
They knock on the pane and pound on the door. 

“ Don Gaetano,” they cry, “ Don Gaetano ! ” 

Gaetano comes laughing out on the steps. They 
swing their caps and cheer. He hastens down into 
the crowd, and embraces one after the other. 

But that does not satisfy them. He must mount 
the steps and make a speech. He must tell them 
how terrible the government has been toward him, 
and how badly he has fared in the prison. 

Gaetano laughs continually and places himself on 
the steps. “ The prison,” he says, “ what is there 
to say about that ! I have had my soup every dinner, 
and that is more than many of you can say.” 

The little Gandolfo swings his cap and cries to 
him, “ There are many more socialists in Diamante 
now than when you went away, Don Gaetano.” 

“How could it be otherwise?” he says. “All 
people must become socialists. Is socialism some- 
thing awful and terrible ? Socialism is an idyl. It 
is an idyl about a home of one’s own, and cheerful 
work, which every human being is at work upon 
ever since his childhood. A whole world filled 
with. . .” 

He checks himself, for he has chanced to cast a 
glance over to the summer-palace. There stands 
Donna Micaela on one of the balconies, looking 
down upon him. 


THE COMING-HOME 


349 


Not for a moment does he believe that it is an illu- 
sion or an apparition. He sees instantly that she is 
real and living. But just on that account . . . and 
then because the prison has taken his strength away 
from him, so that he cannot be considered a well 
person .... 

He feels terribly embarrassed at not being able to 
hold himself upright. He clutches the air with his 
hands, endeavors to get support against the door- 
post, but it is of no avail. His limbs will not bear 
him, he slips down the steps, striking his head on a 
stone. 

There he lies quiet, as though he were dead. 

All rush forward, carry him in, run for the barber, 
surgeon and doctor, prescribe, talk and propose a 
thousand ways to help him. 

Donna Elisa and Pacifica finally get him into one 
of the bed-chambers. Luca drives out the people 
and stands watch outside the closed door. Donna 
Micaela, who has come in with the rest, he has first 
of all taken by the hand and led out. She could not 
be allowed to remain inside. Luca had himself seen 
Gaetano fall, as though he had got a blow across the 
head, when he caught sight of her. 

The doctor arrives, and he makes one attempt 
after the other to awaken Gaetano. It is useless. 
The doctor thinks that he has received a dangerous 
blow on the head, when he fell. He does not know 
if he will succeed in bringing him to. 

The fainting by itself was nothing, but this blow 
against the hard edge of the stone step. . . . 

Within is anxiety and bustle. The poor things, 
shut out, cannot do anything but listen and wait. 


350 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


They stand there all day outside Donna Elisa’s 
door. There stand Donna Concetta and Donna 
Emilia. There has not been much friendship be- 
tween them in past times ; to-day, however, they 
stand side by side and mourn. 

Many anxious eyes are spying through the window 
into Donna Elisa’s house. The little Gandolfo and 
old Assunta from the cathedral steps, and the poor 
chair-maker, stand there the whole afternoon. It is 
so terrible that Gaetano is going to die, just as they 
have got him back. 

The blind stand there waiting as if they expected 
that he would give them their sight, and poor peo- 
ple, both from Geraci and Corvaja, stand there in 
order to learn how it will turn out with their young 
lord, the lost Alagona. 

He meant well by them, and in him dwelt great 
power and ability. Had he only been allowed to 
live .... 

“ God has taken his hand from Sicily,” they say. 
“ All who wish to succor the people He lets perish.” 

The whole afternoon and evening, and far into the 
night, the crowd remains outside Donna Elisa’s 
house. Precisely at twelve Donna Elisa throws open 
the shop door and comes out on the steps. “ Is he 
better?” they all cry at one time. — “ No, he is not 
better.” 

Then it becomes quiet, but finally a single, trem- 
bling voice asks : “ Is it worse ? ” — “ No, no, it is not 
worse. It is the same. The doctor is with him.” 

Donna Elisa has thrown a black shawl over her 
head and carries a lantern in her hand. She descends 
the steps and goes out into the street, where people 


THE COMING-HOME 35 1 

are sitting and lying closely packed together. She 
gropes her way along slowly. 

“ Is Gandolfo here?” she asks. 

“Yes, Donna Elisa.” And Gandolfo steps for- 
ward to her. 

“You shall come with me and open your church 
for me.” 

All who hear Donna Elisa say this, understand 
that she wishes to go out to the Christ-child in San 
Pasquale’s and pray for Gaetano. They rise and wish 
to accompany her. 

Donna Elisa is touched by this sympathy. Her 
heart bursts wide open. 

“ I will tell you something,” she says, and her 
voice trembles a good deal. “ I have had a dream. 
I know not how it could happen that I fell asleep 
this night. But while I sat by the bedside feeling 
most anxious, I slept. And I had hardly dropped 
asleep, ere I saw the Christ-child before me, in crown 
and golden shoes, as it stands out there in San 
Pasquale’s. And thus it said to me : ‘ Make the 
poor woman that lies praying in my church your 
daughter-in-law, then Gaetano will be well ! ’ It had 
only time to say that before I awoke, and, as I 
opened my eyes, it was as if I saw the Christ-child 
disappearing through the wall. And now I must go 
and see if some one is there. 

“ But now you all hear that I promise that if there 
is any woman out in San Pasquale’s I will do as 
the image has commanded me. Even though it be 
the poorest lass from the street, I will take care of 
her and make her my daughter-in-law.” 

When Donna Elisa had said that, she and all who 


352 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


had been waiting on the street proceeded to Sail 
Pasquale’s. All the poor people quiver with expec- 
tation. They can scarcely keep from rushing past 
Donna Elisa to see if some one is in the church. 

Fancy if it is a gypsy lass who has sought shelter 
there during the night ! Who else can be in the 
church at night but a poor, homeless thing? It is 
an awful promise Donna Elisa has made. 

Finally they are at Porta Etnea, and then they 
proceed briskly down the hill. May the Lord pre- 
serve us, the church door stands open ! Conse- 
quently some one is really inside. 

The lantern trembles in Donna Elisa’s hand. 
Gandolfo offers to take it, but she keeps it. “ In the 
name of God, in the name of God,” she murmurs, 
as she passes into the church. 

The people press on behind her. They almost 
crowd each other to death at the door, but suspense 
keeps them silent. No one says a word. All look 
up to the high altar. Is any one there ? Is any one 
there ? 

The little hanging lamp over the image gives but 
a miserable light. Is any one there ? 

Yes, there is some one. Over there is a woman. 
She is on her knees praying, and bends her head so 
low that they cannot see who it is. But now, hear- 
ing steps behind her, she lifts the long, gracefully 
curved neck and looks up. It is Donna Micaela. 

At first she becomes frightened, and gives a start 
as though she would flee. Donna Elisa, too, is 
frightened, and they look at each other as if they had 
never met before. Then Donna Micaela says quite 
gently : “You come to pray for him, sister-in-law.” 


THE COMING-HOME 


353 


And they see her moving a little farther away in 
order that Donna Elisa may have the place directly 
opposite the image, 

Donna Elisa’s hand trembles so that she is obliged 
to put down the lantern on the floor, and her voice 
is quite hoarse, as she says : “ Has no one but you 
been here to-night, Micaela ? ” — “ No, no one else.” 

Donna Elisa is obliged to lean against the wall to 
keep from falling, and Donna Micaela notices it. 
Immediately she is at her side and lays her arm 
around her waist. “ Sit down, sit down ! ” She 
conducts her to the altar platform, and sinks down on 
her knees before her. “ Is it so bad with him ? We 
will pray for him.” 

“ Micaela,” says Donna Elisa, “ I thought I should 
receive succor out here.” — “ Y es, that you surely will.” 
— “ I dreamed that the image standing there came 
to me and said that I ought to come here.” — “ Ah, 
well, many and many a time it has helped us before.” 
— “ But it said like this to me : ‘ Make the poor 
woman, who lies out there praying at the altar, your 
daughter-in-law, then will your son be well ! ’ ” — 
“ What say you, that he said ? ” — “ I should make 
her, who lay praying out here, my daughter-in-law.” 
— “ And would you do that ? Why, you did not 
know whom you would meet ! ” 

“ On the way I made the promise — and they that ac- 
companied me, heard it — that whoever it might be, 
I should take her in my arms and conduct her to my 
home. I thought it was some poor thing that God 
wished to help.” — “ And so it was indeed.” — “ I felt 
so grieved when I saw that there was no one here 
but you.” 

23 


354 THE miracles of antichrist 

Donna Micaela does not reply ; she looks up at the 
image. “ Do you wish it ? Do you wish it ? ” she 
whispers anxiously. 

Donna Elisa continued lamenting. “ I saw the 
image so plainly, and it has never failed me before. 

I thought that some poor dowerless thing had asked 
it for a husband. Such things have happened before. 
What shall I do now ?” 

She moans and complains. She cannot get rid of 
the thought that it would be a poor woman. Donna 
Micaela becomes impatient. She takes her by the 
arm and shakes her. “ Why, Donna Elisa, Donna 
Elisa.” 

Donna Elisa does not hear her ; she continues her 
wailing. “ What shall, what shall I do ? ” 

“ Why, make the poor woman that lay here pray- 
ing your daughter-in-law then, Donna Elisa ! ” 

Donna Elisa looks up. What a face she has be- 
fore her 1 So charming, so winning, so smiling ! 

But she does not see it for more than a moment. 
Donna Micaela hides it immediately in Donna Elisa’s 
old black dress. 

Donna Micaela and Donna Elisa proceed together 
into the city. The street makes a bend, so that they 
cannot see Donna Elisa’s house before they are 
quite near to it. When at length they are within 
sight of it, they see that the shop-windows are lit up. 
Four enormous wax candles are burning behind the 
garlands of rosaries. 

The women press each other’s hands. “ He is 
alive,” whispered one to the other. “ He is 
alive.” 

“You must not tell him anything of what the 


THE COMING-HOME 355 

image commanded you to do,” says Donna Micaela 
to Donna Elisa. 

Outside the shop they embrace and each one goes 
her way. 

After a little while Gaetano comes out on the door- 
step. He stands still a moment and inhales the 
fresh night air. Then he sees how lights are lit in 
the dark palace across the street. 

Gaetano breathes hard and laboriously. He appears 
almost to be afraid to go farther. Suddenly he 
dashes off, as one who goes to meet an inevitable 
disaster. He finds the portal to the summer-palace 
unlocked, takes the stairs in two bounds and pulls 
open the door of the music-room without knocking. 

Donna Micaela sits wondering whether he will 
come to-night or not until the morning. She hears 
his steps out in the gallery. Terror takes possession 
of her. What will he now be like ? She has longed 
so incredibly for him. Will he really be such that 
all this longing will be assuaged ? 

And will no more walls rise between them ? Will 
they now be able to tell each other everything? 
Will they speak of love and not socialism ? 

When he opens the door she tries to go towards 
him, but she cannot. Her whole body shakes. She 
sits down and hides her eyes with her hand. 

She expects that he will throw his arms around 
her and kiss her, but he is not very likely to do that. 
Gaetano is not in the habit of doing what you ex- 
pect he will do. 

As soon as he was able to hold himself upright, 
he hurried on his clothes in order to come and see 
her. He is really in brilliant humor. He wQuld 


356 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

have liked her to have taken it less seriously. He 
does not wish to become excited. Had he not 
fainted in the morning? He was not very strong. 

He stands still beside her till she regains her com- 
posure. “ You have weak nerves,” he says. That 
is really all he says. 

She and Donna Elisa and everybody are convinced 
that he is come to press her to his bosom and say 
that he loves her. But just on that account it is 
impossible for Gaetano. Some people are wicked. 
It is their nature never to do the very thing they 
should do. 

Gaetano begins to tell her about his journey. He 
does not even mention socialism. He talks of 
express-trains and conductors and strange fellow- 
travelers. 

Donna Micaela sits looking at him. Her eyes beg 
and entreat more and more fervently. Gaetano ap- 
pears to be overjoyed and glad to see her. But why 
does he not say what he is going to say ? 

“ Have you traveled on the Etna railroad ? ” 

“Yes,” he replies, and commences to talk quite 
freely about the beauty and usefulness of that 
line. He knows nothing of how it has come to 
exist. 

Gaetano sits there saying to himself that he is a 
barbarian. Why does he not speak the word she is 
longing for ? But why does she sit there so humbly ? 
Why does she show that he needs only stretch out 
his hand and take her ? He is wildly and enthusiasti- 
cally happy to be so near her, but he is so sure of 
her. It is such fun to torment her. 

But the Diamante people are still standing down on 


THE COMING-HOME 357 

the street. And all feel as happy as though they 
were giving away a daughter in marriage. 

They have all been patient till now, in order to 
give Gaetano time to declare himself. But now it 
surely must be done. And they commence to shout : 

“ Long live Gaetano ! long live Micaela ! ” 

Donna Micaela looks up with unutterable anguish. 
Surely he must understand that she cannot help 
that. 

She goes out in the gallery and sends down Lucia 
to beg them to be quiet. 

When she returns, Gaetano has risen. He offers 
her his hand. He wishes to go. 

Donna Micaela holds out her hand to him hardly 
aware of what she is doing. But then she pulls it 
back. “ No, no,” she says. 

He wishes to go, and who knows whether he 
will come back to-morrow. And she has not yet 
spoken with him ; she has not said a word to him of 
all she wished to tell him. 

Surely it need not be between them as between 
ordinary lovers. Had he not given color and mean- 
ing to her life during many years ? If he now talked 
love or not to her, that mattered not. She must 
nevertheless tell him what he has been to her. 

And now, now immediately. She must not waste 
time where Gaetano is concerned. She dares not 
let him go. 

“ You cannot go yet,” she says. “ I must tell 
you.” 

She drags forward a chair for him and seats her- 
self somewhat behind him. His eyes are too merry 
to-night. They distract her. 


358 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

So she begins to speak. She lays before him her 
life’s great hidden treasures, all the words he had 
said to her and all the dreams he had made her 
dream. She had lost nothing. She had saved and 
hoarded it. It had been all the riches in her barren life. 

At first she spoke fast, as though she were repeat- 
ing a lesson. She is afraid of him, she does not 
know if he likes to have her talk. So she ventures 
to look at him. He is grave now, no longer wicked. 
He sits still and listens as if he would not like to 
lose a single syllable. A minute ago his face was 
sickly and ashy-pale, but all at once it changes. 
His face begins to shine, he appears like one trans- 
figured. 

She continues her narrative. She sees that he 
thinks she also is beautiful now. How could she be 
anything but beautiful, now that she may at last 
speak her mind to him. She may tell him how love 
came to her, and how it has never left her since. At 
last she may tell him how he has been her all ! 

Words are too inefficient. She takes his hand 
and kisses it. 

He lets it happen without moving. The color in 
his face does not deepen, but becomes more trans- 
parent. She remembers Gandolfo, who had said 
that Gaetano’s face became so white that it shone. 

He does not interrupt her. She tells him about 
the railroad, tells of miracle after miracle. At times 
he looks at her. His eyes beam upon her. He is 
not making sport of her. 

She wonders a good deal what is taking place 
within him. He looks as if what she said was noth- 
ing new to him. He seems to be familiar with it all. 


THE COMING-HOME 


359 

Could it be that the love he bore her was exactly 
like the love she felt for him ? Was it connected 
with all that was noblest within him ? Had it been 
the elevating power in his life ? Had it given wings 
to his artistic skill? Had it made him love the 
poor and oppressed ? Does it now gain dominion 
over him once more, let him feel that he is an 
artist, an apostle, that nothing is too high for 
him ? 

But as he continues silent, she thinks that maybe 
he does not wish to bind himself to her. He loves 
her^but perhaps he wishes to remain a free man. 
He sees, perhaps, that she would not make a suitable 
wife for a socialist. 

Her blood begins to seethe. She thinks that per- 
haps he imagines that she sits there begging for his 
love. 

She has told him almost all that has happened 
while he has been away. Now she suddenly breaks 
short her narrative. 

“ I have loved you,” she says, “ I will always love 
you, and I think I should like you to say to me 
once again that you loved me. It would make the 
parting easier to bear.’' 

“ Would it ? ” he says. 

“ Can I be your wife ? ” she says, and her voice 
trembles with indignation. “Your doctrines I no 
longer stand in fear of. I am not afraid of your poor. 
I would like to turn the world upside down like 
you. But I am a believer. How can I live with 
you if you will not follow me in that ? Or perhaps 
you would lure me into unbelief ? The world would 
then be dead to me. Everything would lose mean- 


360 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

in g, worth. I should become a miserable, impover- 
ished being. We must part.” 

“ Really ! ” he turns towards her. His eyes begin 
to glow with impatience. 

“ You may go now,” she says calmly. “ I have 
been allowed to say to you all I wished to say. I 
should have wished that you had had something to 
say to me. Yet I dare say it is better as it is. We 
will not make it harder to part than need be.” 

Gaetano’s one hand grasps firmly both her hands, 
the other holds her head still. Then he kisses her. 

Was she mad to think that he should let anything 
in the world part them now ? 


ONLY OF THIS WORLD 


361 


IV 

ONLY OF THIS WORLD 

As she grew up, everybody said of her : “ She 

will become a saint, a saint.” 

Her name was Margherita Cornado. She lived in 
Girgenti, which lies on the south side of Sicily, in the 
great mining district. When she was still a child, 
her father was a miner ; afterwards he came into a 
small inheritance, which enabled him to leave off 
working. 

There was a little, narrow and wretched platform 
on the roof of Margherita Cornado’s house in Gir- 
genti reached by a steep and narrow staircase from 
which access was gained through a low doorway. 
But it was worth the trouble to ascend it. Arrived, 
there was seen not only a mass of roofs, but the air 
above the city was full of towers and facades of the 
Girgenti churches. And every tower and every fa- 
cade was a vibratory lacework of statues, of loggias, 
of glittering baldachins. 

And outside the city you beheld a wide plain, 
gently sloping toward the s^a, and a semicircle of 
mountains keeping watch over it. The whole plain 
had a reddish tint, the sea was enamel blue, the moun- 
tain-sides were yellow. It was a perfect Orient in 
warmth and display of colors. 

But much more was to be seen. Ancient temples 


362 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

lay scattered over the valley. Remains of walls and 
strange old towers were there. It was a complete 
wonderland. 

While Margherita Cornado grew up, she was in the 
habit of spending the greater part of her days on this 
platform. Yet she rarely looked out over the daz- 
zling landscape. She was occupied with other things. 
Her father was in the habit of relating to her about 
the life in the sulphur mines in Grotte, where he was 
a laborer. Whilst Margherita Cornado sat on the 
airy terrace she constantly fancied herself wandering 
about down in the dark passages of the mine, and 
groping along in the dusky shaft. 

She never could cease thinking of all the misery 
which prevailed in the mines ; above all, she thought 
of the children that carried the ore up to the surface 
of the earth. “ The little carts,” they were called. 
That name fixed itself in her memory. Poor, poor 
little carts, poor little mining carts ! 

They came in the morning and followed each his 
miner down into the mine. As soon as the miner 
had cut sufficient ore he loaded the little cart, and 
so the latter commenced to ascend. Several of them 
met during the journey, thus forming a long train. 
And then they would sing, 

“ One journey is done with smart and pain 
Nineteen are left for weary little swain.” 

When finally they were up in the daylight, they 
emptied their baskets and threw themselves on the 
ground to rest a moment. Most of them dragged 
themselves over to the sulphurous pools, found near 
the mouth of the mine, and drank of the fetid water. 


ONLY OF THIS WORLD 363 

But they were soon obliged to descend again. 
As they climbed down, they cried. “ Lord, have 
mercy on us, have mercy on us ! ” 

For every journey the little carts performed, their 
song became more and more woful. They sighed 
and wept, as they crawled along the path. The little 
carts bathed in sweat. The baskets of ore dug holes 
in their shoulders. In ascending and descending 
they sang : 

“ O, seven more journeys there are, 

Better than life is death by far.” 

During her whole childhood Margherita Cornado 
had been troubled about these poor children. And 
it was because she was always thinking of their misery, 
it was believed she would become a saint. 

Nor did she forget them when she became older. 
As soon as she was grown up, she set out for Grotte, 
where most of the mines were, and when the little 
carts came up in the daylight, she stood waiting for 
them at the mouth of the mine with fresh clean water. 
She wiped the sweat off their faces, and tended the 
sores on their shoulders. It was not much she could 
do for them, yet it soon seemed to the little carts that 
they should not be able to endure the work that day 
Margherita Cornado came not and succored them. 

But unfortunately for the little carts, Margherita 
Cornado was very comely. One day it happened that 
one of the mining engineers saw her, as she was suc- 
coring them, and straightway he fell in love with her. 

A couple of weeks after that Margherita Cornado 
ceased coming to the Grotte mines. Instead she stayed 
at home in Girgenti and sewed on her dowry. She 


364 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

was going to marry the mining engineer. She was 
making a good match and would come into relation- 
ship with all the most potent people in the city. 
Then she could no longer take care of the little 
carts. 

A few days before the wedding, the old beggar, 
Santuzza, who was Margherita’s godmother, came 
desiring to speak with her. They repaired to the 
platform on the roof, in order to be left alone. 

11 Margherita,” said the old woman, “ you are now 
living in such joy and splendor, that it is not worth 
while perhaps to talk to you about those that are 
in want and trouble. You have forgotten all such 
things.” 

Margherita rebuked her for speaking so. 

“ I come with a message to you from my son 
Orestes. He has come to grief, and he needs your 
advice.” 

“ You know that you may speak freely to me, San- 
tuzza,” said the girl. 

“ Orestes is no longer at the Grotte mines, you 
know. He is at Racalmuto. And he is badly off 
there. Not exactly because the wages are small, but 
the engineer is one of those who torture poor people 
to the last drop of blood.” 

The old woman told how the engineer tormented 
the workingmen. He reckoned too short working- 
time ; he made them pay a fine if they were out a day. 
He did not manage the mines properly. Crush fol- 
lowed upon crush. No one was sure of his life as 
long as he was underground. 

“ Well, Margherita, Orestes had a son. A fine lad, 
just ten years old. The engineer came and wanted 


ONLY OF THIS WORLD 365 

to buy the boy of Orestes, and place him among the 
little carts. But Orestes said no. His boy should 
not be ruined by such work. 

“ The engineer threatened, and said that Orestes 
should be driven away from the mine. 

Santuzza made a pause. 

“ And so ? ” asked Margherita. 

“ Well, then, Orestes let the engineer have the 
boy. The next day he whipped him. He whipped 
him every day. The boy became more and more 
wretched. Orestes saw it and begged the engineer to 
spare the boy, but he had no pity. He said that the 
boy was lazy, and continued to persecute him. — And 
now he is dead. My grandson is dead, Margherita.” 

The girl had at once forgotten all her happiness. 
She was again only the miner’s daughter, the little 
cart’s patroness, the poor child that used to sit there 
on the bright platform weeping over the misery in the 
black mines. 

“Why is that man allowed to live?” she ex- 
claimed. . 

The woman looked treacherously at her and 
stealthily drew forth a knife. Orestes sends you this 
with a thousand questions,” she said. 

Margherita Cornado took the knife, kissed the 
blade and gave it back without a word. 

Came the night before the wedding. The bride- 
groom’s parents were expecting the son. He was to 
come home from the mines toward the close of the 
day. But he did not come. Late in the night a serv- 
ant was sent to the Grotte mines to seek him. He 
was found a mile from Girgenti. He lay murdered 
by the roadside. 


366 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

Search began immediately for the murderer. Close 
inquiries were held with the miners at Grotte, but 
the offender could not be detected. There were 
no witnesses ; no one could be induced to betray a 
comrade. 

Then Margherita Cornado appeared, and denounced 
Orestes, the son of her godmother, Santuzza, who 
had not moved to Racalmuto. 

She did this, although she knew that her fianc£ 
was guilty of all that with which Santuzza had charged 
him. She did this, although she herself had con- 
demned him by kissing the knife. 

She had hardly accused Orestes before she regretted 
it. She was seized with poignant remorse. 

In any other country, what she had done would not 
be counted a crime, but in Sicily it is considered so. 
A Sicilian would rather die than act the informer. 

Margherita Cornado felt no peace, night or day. 
She had a constant smarting anguish in her heart, 
perpetual misery dwelt within her. 

She was not severely judged, because it was known 
that she had loved the murdered, and thought San- 
tuzza had treated her cruelly. No one spoke contemp- 
tuously of her and no one refused to salute her. 

Still it did not help her that others were lenient 
towards her. Remorse lived in her breast and tor- 
tured her as an aching wound. 

Orestes had been sentenced to the galleys for life. 
Santuzza had died a few weeks after her son’s sentence 
had been pronounced. Margherita could not ask for- 
giveness either of one or the other. 

She implored the saints, but they would not help 
her. It seemed as though nothing in the world had 


ONLY OF THIS WORLD 3 67 

power to take away from her the terribleness of re- 
morse. 

At that time the famous Franciscan monk, Father 
Gondo was visiting in the regions about Girgenti. 
He preached for the purpose of collecting participants 
for a pilgrimage to Diamante. 

It did not trouble Father Gondo, that the pope 
had not recognized the image of Christ in San 
Pasquale’s as miracle-working. He had met blind 
singers on his journeys, and heard them tell about 
the image. During glorious nights he had sat at the 
feet of Father Elias and Brother Tommaso, and from 
sunset to daybreak they had related to him about the 
image. 

And now the powerful preacher began to refer all 
the inflicted to the great miracle-worker. He ex- 
horted the people not to allow this blessed oppor- 
tunity to pass by unimproved. The Christ-child, 
he said, had hitherto received but little worship in 
Sicily. Now the time had come when it wished to 
have a church and worship, and to carry this 
through, it caused miracle upon miracle to happen 
through the sacred image. 

Father Gondo, who had passed through his novi- 
tiate in Aracoeli’s monastery on Capitolium, told the 
people about the image of the Christ-child there, and 
of the thousand miracles he had performed. “ And 
now this mild and gentle little child desires to be 
worshiped in Sicily/’ said Father Gondo. “ Let 
us no longer hesitate, but hasten to it. In these 
days Heaven is bountiful. Let us be the first to ac- 
knowledge the image ! Let us be as the shepherds 
and wise men of the East; let us go to the holy child, 


368 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

while it yet lies on the straw bed in the poor 
grotto ! ” 

Margherita Cornado was filled with new hope when 
she heard this. She was the first who obeyed Father 
Gondo’s summons. Subsequently others also joined 
him. Forty pilgrims marched with him through the 
inland mountain desert towards Diamante. 

They were all very poor and unhappy. But Father 
Gondo had them sing and pray during the whole 
journey. Soon their eyes began to beam, as though 
the star of Bethlehem had gone before them. 

“ Know ye, ” said Father Gondo, “ why God’s Son 
is greater than all saints ? Because he gives the 
soul holiness, because he forgives sins, because he 
grants the spirit perfect rest in God, because his 
kingdom is not of this world. ” 

When his little flock looked weary, he cheered 
them with stories of the miracles the image had per- 
formed. The blind singers’ legends became refresh- 
ing fruits and exhilarating wine. The poor wander- 
ers in the mountain-desert of Sicily walked with light 
steps as though they were on their way to Nazareth 
to see the carpenter’s son. 

“ He will take away all our burdens,” said Father 
Gondo. “ When we return, our hearts will be re- 
lieved of all suffering. ” 

And during the journey, through the arid sun- 
heated desert, where no tree gave coolness, and where 
the water was bitter from salt and sulphur, Marghe- 
rita Cornado felt that her grief was soothed. “ The 
little heavenly king will take away my suffering,” 
she said. 

One day in May the pilgrims finally reached the 


ONLY OF THIS WORLD 369 

foot of Diamante’s mountain. There the desert 
ceased. 

They saw on all sides olive groves and fresh ver- 
dure. The mountain sparkled, the city sparkled. 
They felt that they had come to a place overshad- 
owed by God’s grace. 

Joyfully they climbed the zigzag road, and with 
clear ringing voices began to sing an ancient pilgrim 
song. 

When they had proceeded some distance up the 
mountain, people from Diamante came running to 
meet them. On hearing the monotonous sound of 
the familiar pilgrim song, they had left their work 
and hastened out. And the people of Diamante em- 
braced and kissed the pilgrims. 

They had been expected long ago, and it was a 
matter of surprise that they had not arrived before. 

Diamante’s image of Christ was a mighty miracle- 
worker ; it was so full of mercy and love that all people 
should come to him. 

When Margherita Cornado heard this, she felt as 
though her heart was already healed of its suffering. 
All from Diamante comforted and encouraged her. 

“ He will surely help you, he helps all,” they said. 
“ No one has prayed to him in vain. ” 

At the city gate the pilgrims parted. The citizens 
of Diamante took them to their homes that they 
might refresh themselves after the journey. In an 
hour all were to meet at Porta Etnea and repair t<? 
the image. But Margherita Cornado had not patience 
to wait one whole hour. She inquired the way to 
the church of San Pasquale, and went there alone, 
before all the others. 

24 


370 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

An hour later, when Father Gondo and the pil- 
grims came out to San Pasquale’s they saw Marghe- 
rita Cornado sitting on the platform below the high- 
altar. She sat still, as if she were not aware that any 
one was coming. But when Father Gondo was quite 
near to her, she rushed up, as though she had been 
lying in ambush, and threw herself upon him. She 
seized him by the throat and wanted to smother him. 

She was large, finely built and strong. A violent 
struggle ensued and it was with great difficulty that 
Father Gondo and two of the pilgrims were able to 
subdue her. She was quite insane, and so wild, that 
they were obliged to bind her. 

The pilgrims had come in solemn procession, they 
sang and held burning candles in their hands. It 
was a long train, for many people from Diamante 
had joined it. They who walked first stopped sing- 
ing immediately, they who came after, not having 
noticed anything, continued to sing. So the news of 
what had happened went from rank to rank, and 
wherever it came the song ceased. It was hideous to 
hear how it died away and changed into a low wail. 

All the weary pilgrims understood that they had 
gone in vain. All their toilsome wandering had been 
useless. The bright hopes they had nourished during 
their pilgrimage died within them ! The holy image 
would have no solace to give them. 

Even Father Gondo was terrified. It was a harder 
blow for him than for any one else, because each one 
of the others had only his own sorrow to think of, 
but he bore all these people’s sorrow in his heart. 

How should he be able to answer for all the hopes 
he had awakened in them ? 


ONLY OF THIS WORLD 


371 


Suddenly one of his gentle smiles lighted up his 
face. The image no doubt wished to test his and 
their faith. Were they only steadfast, they would 
be helped. 

He commenced again to sing the pilgrim song in 
his clear voice and proceeded up to the altar. 

But as he came nearer the image he stopped sing- 
ing. He stood still and looked at the image with 
wide open eyes. Then he stretched out his hand, 
took the crown and raised it towards his eyes. 
“ There it stands, there it stands, ” he murmured. 
And he let the crown drop out of his hands and 
roll down the stone floor. 

From that moment Father Gondo knew that he 
had before him the ejected image from Aracoeli. 

Yet he did not straightway announce this to the 
people, but said, with his usual gentleness : “ My 
friends, I will tell you something wonderful.’' 

He related for them about the English lady, who 
wanted to steal Aracoeli’s image of Christ. And he 
told of how the image had been called Antichrist 
and been cast out into the world. 

“ I still recollect old Fra Simone,” said Father 
Gondo. “ He never showed me the image without 
saying: * It was this little hand that rung. It was 
this little foot that kicked on the door ! ’ 

“ But when I asked Fra Simone what had become 
of the other image he always said : ‘ What indeed 

should have become of it ? The dogs of Rome 
have, no doubt, dragged him away and bitten him to 
pieces ! ’ ” 

When Father Gondo had said this, he went, just 
as quietly and calmly as always, and picked up the 


37 2 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


crown, which a while ago he had allowed to drop on 
the floor. 

“ Now read that ! ” he said. And he let the crown 
pass from man to man. The people stood with the 
wax-candles in their hands so that the light fell 
on the crown. They that could read, read ; the 
others at least saw that there was an inscription. 

And each one who had held the crown in his 
hand, extinguished his wax-candle immediately. 

When the last light was put out, Father Gondo 
turned to his pilgrims, who had assembled around 
him. “ I have brought you here,” he said to them,” 
in order that you might find him who gives the soul 
peace and entrance to the kingdom of God, but I 
have led you wrong, because this one has nothing 
like that to give. Its kingdom is only of this 
world. 

“ Our poor sister has become insane,” continued 
Father Gondo, “ because she came here hoping for 
heavenly benefactions. Her mind became shattered, 
when she entreated the image without being heard. 
It could not hear her, for its kingdom is only of 
this world.” 

He was silent a moment, and all looked up to him 
to learn what they ought to think of all this. 

So he asked them gently as before : “ Shall an 
image that bears such words in its crown be allowed 
to profane an altar any longer ? ” 

“ No, no ! ” cried the pilgrims. 

The people of Diamante were silent. 

Father Gondo took the image between his hands 
and bore it on outstretched arms through the 
church towards the door. 


ONLY OF THIS WORLD 


373 


However mildly and humbly Father Gondo had 
spoken, his glance had all the while rested sternly 
and with binding power upon the multitude. There 
was not one person, whom he had not subjugated 
and compelled by the power of his will. All had felt 
paralyzed and incapable of a single free thought. 

As Father Gondo approached the door, he stopped 
and looked around. A last restraining glance went 
out over the people. 

“The crown too,” said Father Gondo. And the 
crown was handed to him. 

He placed it on the image and went under the 
stone baldachin, protecting San Pasquale’s image. 
He whispered something to a couple of the pilgrims, 
and these hastened away. They soon returned 
with a few armfuls of wood. These they laid down 
before Father Gondo and set fire to them. All who 
had been inside the church came swarming out. 
They stopped in the yard outside the church, cowed 
and passive as before. They saw that the monk in- 
tended to burn their beloved, beneficent image, and 
they offered no resistance. They could not them- 
selves conceive why they did not try to save the 
image. 

When Father Gondo saw the fire kindling, and 
accordingly felt that the image was wholly in his 
power, he drew himself up, and his eyes flashed. 

“ My poor children,” he said gently, turning to 
the people of Diamante. “ It has been a terrible 
guest you have been harboring. But how is it pos- 
sible that you have not discovered who it is until 
now ? ” 

“ What shall I think of you ? ” he continued more 


374 THE MIRACLES of antichrist 

sternly. “You yourselves say that the image has 
given you everything you have desired. Is there 
then no one in Diamante who, during these years, 
has prayed for the forgiveness of sins and peace of 
the soul. 

“ Can this be possible ? The people of Diamante 
have had nothing to pray for save lottery numbers 
and prosperous years and daily bread and health and 
money. Nothing save the good things of this world 
has it desired. Not one has it behooved to pray for a 
heavenly grace. Can it really be so ? No, it is im- 
possible,” said Father Gondo cheerfully, as though 
filled with sudden hope. “ It is I who have made a 
mistake. The people of Diamante have understood 
that I would not lay the image on the fire without 
inquiring into this matter. They are only waiting 
for me to cease in order that they may step forward 
and bear witness. 

“ Many will say : ‘ That image has made me a 
believer,’ and many will say : ‘ It has granted me 
forgiveness of sins,’ and many will say : ‘ It has 
opened my eyes, so that I have been permitted to 
see the glory of heaven.’ They will step forward 
and say all this, and I shall be put to scorn, and be 
obliged to carry the image back to the altar and 
acknowledge that I have been mistaken.” 

Father Gondo was silent and smiled encouragingly 
upon the people. A violent commotion passed 
through the throng of listeners. Several apparently 
intended to step forward and witness. They went 
a few steps, then stopped. 

“ I am waiting,” said the Father, and his eyes be- 
sought and entreated the people to come. 


ONLY OF THIS WORLD. 


375 


But no one came. The whole throng quivered 
with anguish at not being able to testify in favor of 
the beloved image. Yet no one did it. 

“ My poor children,” said Father Gondo, deeply 
grieved. “ You have had Antichrist among you and 
he has gained the power over you. You have for- 
gotten heaven, you have forgotten that you possess 
a soul. You are thinking of this world. 

“ Formerly it was said that the people of Diamante 
were the most pious in Sicily. But now it must be 
otherwise. The inhabitants of Diamante are world 
thralls. Perhaps they are faithless socialists even, 
loving this world only. They cannot be anything 
else, for have they not had Antichrist among 
them? ” 

On being thus accused, it seemed as though the 
people would at last offer resistance. An angry 
murmur passed through the ranks. 

“The image is holy,” cried one. “When he 
came San Pasquale’s bells rang a whole day.” 

“ Could it ring less to warn against such a calam- 
ity ? ” replied the monk. 

He continued his charges with increasing violence. 
“You are idol-worshipers, not Christians. You 
serve this one because he helps you. But the holy 
spirit is not in you.” 

“ It has been kind and merciful as Christ,” an- 
swered the people. 

“And just that has been the greatest evil,” said 
the monk, and now, all at once, he became awful 
in his wrath. “ It has assumed the form of Christ 
in order to lead you astray. And thus it has caught 
you in its net. By heaping gifts and blessings upon 


3 y6 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

you, it has enticed you into its snare and made 
world-thralls of you. Is it not so ? Perhaps some 
one can step forth and say the contrary? Perhaps 
he has heard that some one not present here has 
asked the image for heavenly grace.” 

“ It has conjured a jettatore,” some one said. 

“ Is it not he, who is just as great an evil-doer as 
the jettatore, that gains ascendency over him ? ” ques- 
tioned the Father grimly. 

So no more attempts were made to defend the 
image. Everything said seemed only to make the 
matter worse. 

Several looked around for Donna Micaela, who 
also was present. She stood in the midst of the 
crowd, heard and saw all, yet did nothing to save 
the image. 

For when Father Gondo had said that the image 
was Antichrist, she had become frightened, and 
when he indicated that the Diamante people had 
only desired the good things of this world, her ter- 
ror had increased. She had not dared to do any- 
thing. 

But when he said that she and all of them were 
under Antichrist’s dominion, there was something 
within her that rebelled against him. “ No, no,” she 
said, “it cannot be so.” Were she to believe that 
an evil power had ruled her during so many years, it 
would deprive her of reason. And her reason began 
to defend itself. 

Belief in the supernatural snapped within her like 
a string too tensely stretched. She could no longer 
follow him. With infinite speed her thoughts ex- 
plored everything which she herself had experienced 


ONLY OF THIS WORLD. 377 

of supernatural things, and they passed sentence 
upon it. 

Was there a single miracle that had been posi- 
tively proved ? She said to herself that it was con- 
currences, concurrences. 

It was like unraveling a tangle. From that which 
she herself had experienced, she passed over to the 
miracles of other days. It was concurrences. It 
was spiritual influence. It was perhaps fiction, most 
of it. 

The raging monk continued to rebuke the people 
in terrible language. She tried to listen to him, 
that she might get away from her own thoughts. 
But it only seemed to her that all he said was mad- 
ness and falsehood. 

What, then, was taking place within her? Was 
she, too, becoming an unbeliever, a free-thinker? 

She looked around for Gaetano. He was there, 
and he was standing on the church step, quite near 
the monk. His eyes rested upon her. And just as 
positively as though she had told him, just as posi- 
tively he knew what was taking place within her. 
Yet he did not appear to be glad or triumphant. He 
looked as though he would have liked to check 
Father Gondo, that a little bit of faith might be 
spared her. 

But Donna Micaela’s thoughts felt no mercy. 
They marched on, plundering her soul. The whole 
radiant world of the supernatural became crushed, 
annihilated. She said to herself that of celestial 
things we knew nothing, could not know anything. 
Many messages had gone from earth to heaven. 
None had gone from heaven to earth. 


378 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

“ But I will still believe in God,” she said, folding 
her hands as if to return, nevertheless, the last and 
best. 

“ Your eyes, ye people of Diamante, are wild and 
evil,” said Father Gondo. “ God is not with you. 
Antichrist has driven God away from you.” 

Donna Micaela’s eyes sought Gaetano’s. “Can 
you give such a poor, impoverished being anything 
to live for?” they seemed to ask. His glance met 
hers with proud assurance. He read in her beauti- 
ful, beseeching eyes how her quivering soul clung to 
him for support. Not for a moment did he doubt 
that he would be able to make her life rich and 
glorious. 

She thought of the joy which now accompanied 
him whenever he showed himself. She thought of 
the joy which had surged around her that night in 
Palermo. She knew that it sprang up out of the 
new faith in a happy earth. Would this faith and 
this joy be able to seize her, too ? 

She wrung her hands in agony. Would this new 
faith become anything to her? Would she not 
always need to feel as poor as at that moment ? 

Father Gondo bent down towards the fire. 

“ I repeat it once again,” he cried, “ if only one 
steps forward and says that this image has saved his 
soul, then will I not burn it.” 

Donno Micaela felt at once that she did not wish 
the poor image to be annihilated. Recollections of 
the sweetest moments of her life were knit about it. 

“ Gandolfo, Gandolfo,” she whispered. A mo- 
ment ago she had seen him beside her. 

“ Yes, Donna Micaela.” 


ONLY OF THIS WORLD 


3/9 


“ Let him not burn the image, Gandolfo ! ” 

The monk had repeated his question once, twice, 
three times. — No one stepped forward to defend the 
image. But the little Gandolfo crept nearer and 
nearer. 

Nearer and nearer the fire Father Gondo conveyed 
the image. 

Positively Gaetano had bent forward. Positively 
a proud smile passed over his face. Donna Micaela 
understood that he felt that Diamante now fell to 
him. The monk’s frantic proceeding made Gae- 
tano master over the souls. 

She looked around terrified. Her gaze flew from 
face to face. Was the same thing taking place 
within the souls of all these as in hers ? She fancied 
she saw that it was. 

“ Thou, Antichrist,” said Father Gondo threaten- 
ingly, “ seest thou that no one has thought of his 
soul so long as thou hast been here. — Thou must 
perish.” 

So Father Gondo laid the ejected image on the 
pyre. 

But it had not lain there more than a moment be- 
fore Gandolfo seized it. He seized it, lifted it high 
above his head and ran. 

Father Gondo’s pilgrims hurried after him, in a 
hot chase down the steeps of Monte Chiaro. 

But the little Gandolfo saved the image. 

Down the road came a large, ponderous carriage. 
Gandolfo, whose pursuers were close behind him, 
knew of nothing else to do than to throw the image 
into the carriage. 

Then he quietly allowed himself to be taken. 


380 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 

And as the pursuers were about to hasten after the 
carriage, he stopped them. “ Take care, the signora 
in the carriage is an English lady.” 

It was Signora Favara, who had at last tired of 
Diamante, and journeyed out into the world again. 
And she was allowed to pass unmolested. — No Sicil- 
ian dares to assault an Englishwoman. 


A FRESCO BY SIGNORELLI 


381 


V 

A FRESCO BY SIGNORELLI 

A WEEK later Father Gondo was in Rome. He 
obtained audience with the aged man at the Vatican, 
and related to him how, under the guise of Christ, 
he had found Antichrist, who had insnared the people 
of Diamante into worldliness, and how Father Gondo 
had wished to burn him. He also said that he had 
not been able to lead the people back to God. In- 
stead, all Diamante had reverted to unbelief and 
socialism. No one there troubled himself about his 
soul, no one thought of heaven. Father Gondo 
asked what he should do with these wretched people. 

The aged pope, who is the wisest of all now living, 
did not laugh at Father Gondo’s narrative, but be- 
came deeply distressed. 

“ You have done wrong, you have done very 
wrong,” he said. 

He sat silent a while thinking, then he said : “ You 
have not seen the dome in Orvieto ? ” 

“ No, holy father.” — “ Go and see it then,” said the 
pope, “ and when you return you shall tell me what 
you have seen there.” 

Father Gondo obeyed. He went to Orvieto and 
saw the sacred dome. And in two days he was 
again in the Vatican. 

“ What have you seen in Orvieto ? ” asked the pope, 


382 


THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


Father Gondo related that he had found, in one 
of the chapels, frescos by Luca Signorelli, repre- 
senting The Last Judgment. But he had neither 
looked at the final doom nor at the resurrection of 
the dead. He had directed all his attention to the 
great painting, which the warden called “ Miracles 
of Antichrist .” 

“ What did you see there ? ” asked the pope. 

“ I saw that Signorelli had painted Antichrist as 
a poor and humble man, such as the Son of God was 
when he wandered here on earth. I saw that he had 
clothed him like Christ and given him Christ’s 
features. 

“What did you see further?” said the pope. 

The first thing I saw was that Antichrist preached 
in such a manner that the rich and mighty laid down 
their treasures at his feet. 

“ The second thing I saw was that they brought 
a sick man to Antichrist and he healed him. 

“ The third thing I saw, that a martyr confessed 
Antichrist and gave his life for him. 

“ The fourth thing I saw on the great fresco was 
the people hastening to a great temple of peace. I 
saw the spirit of wickedness precipitated from 
heaven, and all ^perpetrators of violence killed by 
lightning.” 

“ What did you think on beholding this ? ” asked 
the pope. 

“ I thought : * This Signorelli has been mad. Does 
he presume that when Antichrist comes wicked- 
ness will be vanquished and the earth become holy 
as paradise ? ” 

“ Saw you anything more ? ” 


A FRESCO BY SIGNORELLI 


383 


“ I saw represented on the painting monks and 
priests dragged to the stake and burned. And the 
sixth and last thing I saw was Satan whispering in 
Antichrist’s ear prompting him how to act and 
speak.” 

“ What did you think when you saw that ? ” 

“ I said to myself : ‘ This Signorelli is not insane, but 
a prophet. Antichrist will surely come in the form 
of Christ, and make the world into a paradise. He 
will make it so beautiful that the people will forget 
heaven. And that will be the world’s most danger- 
ous temptation.’ ” 

“ Do you now understand,” said the pope, “ that 
what you related to me was nothing new? The 
Church has always known that Antichrist would 
come, equipped with the virtues of Christ.” 

“ Knew you also that he had actually come, holy 
father? ” asked Father Gondo. 

“ How could I sit here on Pietro’s chair, year after 
year, without knowing that he is come ? ” said the 
pope. “ I see arising among the people a movement, 
which burns with love for fellow-man and hates 
God. I see the people become martyrs for the new 
hope of a happy world. I see how they receive fresh 
courage and joy from the words, 1 Think of the world,’ 
just as they formerly received it from the words. 
< Think of heaven.’ I knew that he whom Signorelli 
had portended was come.” 

Father Gondo bowed in silence. 

“ Do you now understand wherein you have done 
wrong ? ” 

“ Holy father, enlighten me as to my sin.” 

The pope looked up. His clear eyes penetrated 


384 the miracles of antichrist 

the transitory veil covering created matter, and saw 
what was hidden behind it. 

“ Father Gondo,” he said, “ the little child with 
which you struggled in Diamante, the child which was 
merciful and miracle-working as Christ, the poor, 
despised child, which defeated you and which you 
call Antichrist, do you know who that is ? ” 

“ No, holy father.” 

“ And he who on Signorelli’s painting healed the 
sick, softened the hearts of the rich, slew those who 
committed violence, he who transformed the earth 
into a paradise and enticed the people to forget 
heaven. Do you not know who that is ? ” 

“ No, holy father. 

“ Who else can it be but Antichristianity, social- 
ism ? ” 

The monk looked up, terrified. 

“Father Gondo,” said the pope sternly, “when 
you held the image in your arms you wished to burn 
it. Why ? Why were you not kind towards it and 
carry it back to the little Christ-child on Capitolium, 
whence he came ? 

“ But that is the way you do, ye begging friars. 
You might take the great movement among the 
people on your arms, while it still lies as an infant in 
its swaddle, and you might bring it to the feet of 
Christ, and Antichrist would see that he is nothing 
else than an imitation of Christ, and acknowledge 
him as Lord and Master. But you do it not. You 
burn Antichristianity at the stake, where in its turn 
it will soon burn you.” 

Father Gondo fell on his knees. “ I understand, 
holy father, I will go and seek the image.” 


A FRESCO BY SIGNORELLI 385 

The pope arose majestically. “ You shall not seek 
the image ; let it run its race through the ages. We 
fear it not. When he comes storming the Capitol- 
ium to ascend the world’s throne, we shall meet it 
and we shall lead it to Christ. We shall reconcile 
heaven and earth. But you do wrong,” he continued 
more gently, “ to hate it. Have you then forgotten 
that the sibyl considers it one of the world-renewers. 
‘ On Capitolium shall the renewer of the world be 
worshiped, Christ or Antichrist.’ ” 

“ Holy father, if the evils of this world be redressed 
through it, and heaven does not suffer by it, then I 
will not hate it.” 

The aged pope smiled his most subtle smile. 

“ Father Gondo, you must allow me to relate a 
Sicilian story. It is told, Father Gondo, that when 
Our Lord was creating the world, he wished to know 
if there still remained much to be done. And he 
sent out San Pietro to see if the world was ready. 

“ When San Pietro returned, he said : ‘ All weep 
and wail and complain.’ 

“ ‘ Then the world is not ready,’ said Our Lord, and 
he continued working. 

“ After three days Our Lord sent San Pietro again 
to the world. 

“ ‘ All laugh and play and rejoice,’ said San Pietro 
when he came back. 

“ ‘ Then the world is not ready,’ said Our Lord, 
and he worked further. 

“ San Pietro was sent out for the third time. 

“ ‘ Some laugh and some weep,’ he said, when he 
returned. 

“ ‘ Then the world is ready,’ said Our Lord. 

*5 


386 THE MIRACLES OF ANTICHRIST 


“ And thus shall it be and continue,” said the aged 
pope. “ No one can deliver the people from their 
sorrows, but to him shall much be forgiven who 
nourishes in them fresh courage to bear them.” 


THE END. 








































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